Come a Stranger
by Fleura45
Summary: Dempsey and Harry are taking the first tentative steps in their new relationship and visit Winfield Hall to relax and spend time together. But complex Winfield family secrets float to the surface and may threaten the future.
1. Chapter 1

The sky was heavy with the promise of snow by the time they joined the road that lead to Winfield Hall.

At two o clock in the afternoon the countryside was shrouded in gloom; night would fall within a couple of hours. From the passenger seat, Harry looked over and smiled at Dempsey. They had been driving in comfortable silence for some time.

She was still getting used to their new intimacy, but as the weeks passed it seemed to be getting easier. She had worried that working together would be difficult, but so far her fears were unfounded. They still bickered of course; that had always been their relationship. The difference now was that he took her in his arms at the end of each day, and their arguments seemed to be forgotten. It was still a secret in the office and she wanted it to stay that way.

Any niggling worries were a small price to pay. She had fallen in love with him, and that gave her a joy like she had never known. In comparison, her anxiety about work or what other people would say, paled into insignificance. And he felt it too. He told her he did, and besides, she just knew it in her bones. It had been there in his eyes when he picked her up earlier; there in the way he had pulled her into his arms and kissed her with such a passion that they almost hadn't made it out to the car at all.

Now he reached over and touched her hand. She squeezed his fingers back. They had been together like this for five weeks now – was it really only that long? This would be Dempsey's second visit to her family home in that capacity. The first had been at Christmas just a few weeks ago but things were so new, and they were both so tired… this time, she really wanted her father to get to know him. She wanted him to feel like a part of the family.

She watched him covertly as he focused on the road, singing along to a Country song on the radio. He looked well, she reflected. The tiny lines around his eyes seemed fainter and the sallow look he sometimes had when he was particularly stressed or exhausted was gone. A rush of tenderness ran through her. It was funny what you felt once you let the floodgates open. She'd kept so much bottled up, but now she felt lighter than air, happier than she had in a very long time.

As though reading her thoughts, he spoke.

"Gotta tell you, I'm feelin' a bit nervous. Meeting your Dad an' all."

"You've met him before. And Freddy loves you, you know that.'

"I know but," there was shyness in his grin, "now it's different… you know. He won't get the shot gun out on me or anything will he?"

"James, don't be ridiculous! He's a pussycat. He'll offer you a drink or three, clap you on the back and try and persuade you to go out on a grouse shoot with him. He's never been one of those overprotective fathers, actually. He always trusted me to know my own mind."

"Oh yeah? So he was happy when you went into the police force?"

'Well," she wrinkled her nose, remembering, "I have to admit, he was a little… surprised. It wasn't something anyone else in our family had ever expressed the remotest interest in. And you know, I was married quite young -" she glanced at him - "but I think that deep down he knew I was never going to be happy just being a society wife. He's always said I'm like Mummy, who was apparently extremely adventurous by nature. Of course that generation never had the same sort of opportunities women do now…."

She trailed off.

"How old were you again when your Mom died, angel?"

"Oh, I was very young, only seven. It was a riding accident. I don't remember her very well, except from photos. I remember how much I loved her. Apparently, I was devastated. And ever since then, it's just been Daddy and me."

Dempsey heard the sadness in her voice and was struck with two things: the sense of wanting to know everything about her, and something else – the need to protect her. If he had his way, she would never experience sorrow or pain again. Maybe life wasn't so simple, but he could try.

They were travelling down a long country lane. The first flakes of snow had begun falling.

Harry smiled. "Winfield Hall is beautiful in this weather. It'll be very cold, though. Daddy only heats a few of the rooms; otherwise, the bills would be astronomical. He's got terribly hardy over the years – barely notices the cold. I always bring extra sweaters with me when I come to stay."

"Hey I'm not worried. I got you to keep me warm, remember?" The way he said it made her insides turn over.

They drove through Micklethorpe, a small village a mile from the Hall. On the green, children were playing, muffled up against the cold. The falling snow was creating great excitement.

"Man, that is just so English" he smiled. "Actually, in a weird way – it's English, but it kinda reminds me of home at the same time. Central Park. I guess it's the snow – it's always freezin' cold in New York this time of year."

She rubbed her hands together. "I'm just glad to be out of London. I think we both need this weekend together, James."

"Amen to that. Let's just hope we don't get called back to the office any time soon."

"I think you'll find I've made a point of not giving anyone in the office my Father's home number."

They had reached the entrance to Winfield Hall, and he turned onto the sweeping drive. The land beyond the gates was brown and dark green in hue, the carefully spaced trees bare. Snow was falling faster, powdering the landscape with sparkling white.

The Hall itself rose up ahead of them, dark and imposing. However, Dempsey could see lights within, promising a warmth and hospitality that belied first impressions. Perhaps not unlike Lady Harriet herself, he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

It was six o clock - cocktail hour, and they were sitting together on a small sofa in Harry's wing of the upper floor, her feet curled against his thigh. Dempsey surveyed the rich oil paintings hanging on the walls around him. As ever, the opulence of the place staggered him, even if his powers of adaptability meant that he was able to mask it well.

Upon their arrival in the afternoon, her father had informed them that there would be other guests this weekend: her uncle and aunt would also be visiting. Harry appeared a little surprised but made no comment. As she had predicted, Lord Winfield greeted Dempsey with unreserved pleasure and enthusiasm and they had taken tea in the grandiose parlour before he accompanied them on a brief walk in the grounds as dusk fell.

Now Dempsey took another sip of his gin and tonic and rubbed his thumb against Harry's foot. Her old man was a cool guy, he reflected drowsily. Although he was almost a parody of a well-bred English gent of the old school, his kindness and lack of snobbery was clear on extended acquaintance. Dempsey didn't think he'd ever be completely comfortable in such alien surroundings, but this was Harry's home and he was certainly comfortable with her. One day, he'd take her back to New York City – show her _his_ roots.

They were due to downstairs at eight pm. In addition to Harry's relatives, several other guests from the local area had been invited for the evening.

She put her head on his shoulder. "James?"

"Yeah?"

"We've got two hours before dinner,"

"Uh huh."

"What would you like to do?"

A few things ran through his mind.

"I'm happy just sitting here with you, angel. This drink is good. I'm good"

"Just sitting here, really?"

"Sure. Unless you have anything else in mind?"

He turned his head to look into her face. She gazed up at him, slid a hand across his stomach.

"Mmm, I don't know. Something fun?" Her smile was impossibly inviting.

"Monopoly?"

"Don't be cute."

She manoeuvred herself smoothly on to his knee and put her arms around his neck.

"That's the first time you've ever accused me of tha…" She stopped him with a kiss. Her hair fell into his face, soft, faintly perfumed. She was so light; he sensed the ease with which he could pick her up and carry her through to the bedroom beyond, but for now he resisted the impulse. He turned his face into her neck.

For a while they luxuriated in the closeness. Being with Harry felt so natural, as if he had known her forever. He had always been so very attracted to her, but now it was more. Perhaps it was because of what they had been through together, or because he thought of her as his best friend. Whatever it was, it was both wonderful and frightening. He already knew that he never wanted to let her go.

As if reading his thoughts, she pulled back.

"How about a bath?"

He grinned.

"You know, I was just thinkin' how good that would feel."

"The one up here's big enough for a rugby team. I used to love soaking in it." She stood up and took him by the hand.

On entering the room, he saw what she meant. The space itself was huge and almost empty save for a sink and a towel rack against one wall. In the centre was a large tub on feet. Harry turned both the taps on full.

"It takes a while to fill. The water's either scalding or freezing; there's an art to getting the balance right."

As the level began to slowly rise, she leaned over and poured in a liberal amount of bath essence. There were small spotlights around a big mirror on one wall; more were studded into the floor and the glow they cast around the room was muted and atmospheric. Without blinds or curtains, the large floor-to-ceiling bay window revealed an expanse of blackness as flurries of white flakes danced against the glass. The snow had barely let up since their arrival.

"Ain't you worried people will see us?"

She smiled. "No. We're too high up. Even if there was anyone out there to look."

"What about your Dad's guests?"

"It's too early."

Again, he smiled. 'I'm glad I never saw this place first time I came here last year."

"Why not?"

"Cos I wouldn't have been able to concentrate at work, picturin' you lyin' in this tub, silhouetted in the window. Never woulda guessed it, either."

"It just goes to show."

"What?"

"You never really know a person."

"Ain't that the truth!"

She was sitting on the edge of the bath, rhythmically churning the essence with her fingers. She looked back at him.

"So are these revelations good or bad, James? Are you glad you came?"

Her voice was deliberately playful, but he knew her well enough to understand the seriousness of the question beneath its light tone.

He came behind her and stroked her hair.

"You really need to ask?"

"I suppose not. But I'm glad. I'm glad you're here."

"That makes two of us."

That intensity again. When he looked into her eyes, it was as though there was an invisible force field between them. She turned off the taps and then slowly, her fingers began to work at the buttons of the sheer blouse she wore. She shrugged it off, revealing bare shoulders, bare breasts. He didn't move, but watched as she unzipped her jeans, and pushed them down with her underwear in one fluid motion, her eyes always on him.

A sound came out of his throat and he reached for her, but she slipped away and stepped into the tub, lowering herself quickly into the warm water. She lay back, foam rising to her décolletage.

'Now you."

He didn't need asking twice.

* * *

_She lay with her back to his chest as he sponged the scented water across her stomach and shoulders. Intermittently he kissed her neck and cupped her slippery breasts, trying to keep a lid on his excitement. His bathing became more lax until finally she turned to face him and began to reciprocate the caresses. Water splashed unheeded from the tub to the floor. _

_They moved together for a long time, until neither of them could hold out any longer. As she called his name he held her tight around the waist, face to her breast._

Some time later, he lay sprawled on the bed, drifting.

"Gonna stay here now Harry, me and you," he mumbled. Then he was asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Dempsey stood by the fire in the big hall and surveyed the room. The sleep he had fallen into earlier had deepened just enough to leave him with a surreal drugged feeling he couldn't seem to shake, and the buzz of chatter from Lord Winfield's guests was doing little to bring him out of it.

He wished they could have stayed upstairs in Harry's rooms to enjoy the time alone together, but she was adamant they couldn't be absent from the meal, and he knew she was right. Twenty minutes after she roused him, he was dressed in his tux and ready to go, in body at least.

He took sip of champagne, savouring its dryness and the faintly tart after-taste. There were a dozen or so guests in attendance, most of them in late middle age. Harry stood with her father close to the doorway where they were chatting convivially to a well-to-do couple. Although that would be an accurate description of pretty much everyone here, he thought. The atmosphere reeked of money, as his mother would have said: the women decked out in expensive fabrics and diamonds and the men in tuxes. A fairly formal gathering, but then Lord Winfield was of the old school.

From a distance, he observed Harry. Her sleeveless black dress fell straight down to her feet - its high neck created a perfect balance between sensuality and the appropriate degree of decorum the occasion demanded, he thought admiringly. As usual, she looked exquisite. Were they really here _together_, rather than just on a job? He had to keep reminding himself that this weekend was just about pleasure, and that knowledge only added to his dreamy sense of unreality.

Suddenly she looked his way and their eyes met. Smiling, she said something to her Father before making her way towards him.

"I was feeling scrutinized then, Lieutenant," she slid her arm easily around his waist. "Were you subjecting me to the infamous Dempsey gaze?"

"Just checking up on you Sergeant. Makin' sure you're behaving."

She raised an eyebrow. "James, I'm an expert when it comes to these occasions. Years of practice. I'm worried about you though; how are you coping?"

'Just fine." He drained his glass on impulse. To hell with this polite sipping.

"This may come as a surprise to you Makepeace, but contrary to popular reports, I'm not incapable of being civilized when the need arises."

"Of course it doesn't," she said quickly. "I never doubted it for a second. I know you eat hotdogs with your fingers, but I have every faith that a dinner table setting with multiple pieces of cutlery won't send you into a panic. I wouldn't have invited you otherwise."

He looked down at her, trying to decide whether to be insulted or merely aloof. She was eying him so archly however, that he found he was incapable of either.

"Don't worry on my account baby." He slid his hand around and down to the small of her back, stroking it gently and out of the view of anyone in the room. The flesh was warm under the sheer fabric, and he felt her respond; move closer to him and press her leg subtly against his.

"I give you my word I won't pick the roast beef up with my fingers and start hollering for ketchup and mustard, okay?"

The eyebrow went up again, but this time her lip was twitching. She leaned in and kissed him quickly.

"Deal. Now come and meet my uncle and aunt."

Grabbing his hand, she pulled him in the direction of a small group seated close by.

Harry's uncle was considerably younger than Lord Winfield. Dempsey put him at around sixty to the Lord's seventy. Still, the family resemblance was clear – he had the same bright eyes and angular jaw. Seated next to him on the couch was a woman, presumably his wife, who was younger still – late forties at the most.

"Uncle Giles, Aunt Esther, how are you?"

Harry was back on autopilot. She wasn't lying about having plenty of experience with the social niceties thing he thought, then checked himself. She couldn't help her upbringing, any more than he could.

"I'd like to introduce you to someone. This is my very good friend, James Dempsey."

Giles stood up, although Esther remained in her seat.

Dempsey shook his hand. "Pleased to meet you, sir."

Giles nodded, looking rather taken aback. "An_ American_, Harriet?"

She actually blushed. "There's a little bit more to him than that you know, Giles. James is my partner at work. He's participating in an exchange with the NYPD in New York. And he's a very good friend out of work too. She put her hand on his arm and Dempsey swallowed his annoyance. There was something about Uncle Giles he disliked on sight.

* * *

The soiree progressed relatively smoothly, with the help of much free-flowing wine. At nine pm, the guests were ushered into the dining room and served terrine of duck, roast guinea fowl (shot only that morning on the estate, Lord Winfield proudly informed them) and Baked Alaska. By the time the cheese board was placed in the centre of the table, things were becoming more surreal by the minute to Dempsey.

He wasn't sure what exacerbated his sense of strangeness. Perhaps it was the man servant, Porter, who was forever hovering in the doorway surveying proceedings, always at the ready to fetch anything - whether a jug of water or gravy, or just yet another bottle of Montrachet - at the Lord's behest.

Or perhaps it was the increasing drunkenness of the guests. As the wine flowed, there seemed to be a blatant unconcern for the fact that that most of them had driven to Winfield Hall that evening and would presumably be required to return the same way through the deepening snow. With each course cleared away, the laughter became more raucous and the stories more outrageous, from Mrs Everton-Smythe (the large woman seated next to Dempsey)'s description of skinny dipping with her young groomsman in the stream on her property last week "because he promised me it was be ever so much fun, and do you know, he was right?" (her husband sat silent and benignly smiling throughout the anecdote) to Colonel Aldred's jocular recounting of how he had accidently shot his eldest son in the buttock on a recent grouse hunt, wrongly believing him to be a poacher.

As Porter filled his glass for the twentieth time, Dempsey became ever more convinced that the mean streets of New York were positively tame compared with the lives these people lead. Meanwhile, Harry remained perfectly composed even though she seemed to be drinking as much as everyone else. He was perplexed; ordinarily it didn't take much to get her tipsy. He guessed this was more of her 'other side' he was seeing.

The only unsettling thing that broke through the haze of unreality and alcohol was his increasing awareness of Uncle Giles's eyes on him from across the table. Once, Dempsey met his gaze and saw malevolence there. Why he wasn't sure, but experience had taught him not to look too hard for answers - that it was there at all was enough.

He was pondering tiredly on this when a muted rumbling sound to his right interrupted his reverie. He started. Mrs Everton-Smythe was fast asleep and snoring gently, head resting on her forearms.


	4. Chapter 4

It was close to 2am when they returned to her room. Harry sat at the dressing table and mechanically began to remove her jewellery.

Dempsey threw his jacket on the bed and came behind her to massage her shoulders. They looked at each other in the mirror. Her eyes, sparkling with life all night, betrayed a deep tiredness. He had seen yet another side to her this evening – the actress extraordinaire. Until the moment they left the party she had been animated and vivacious; laughing engagingly at the most incoherently babbled joke. He was in awe of her ability to let the lunacy wash over her and he remembered her earlier words: '_you never really know a person_'.

Most of the guests would be staying at the Hall, in part because of the weather but also due to the sheer amount of alcohol that had been consumed. One couple, the Huntingdon-Fowlers, had insisted on returning home because their nanny was sick and there was no one at home to look after the children. As Archibald bellowed a tuneless rendition of 'The British Grenadiers' as he was helped into his coat, Dempsey could only hope that his wife would persuade him to let her drive.

Midnight came and went, and brandy and coffee were served in the lounge - although several people had to be helped from the table - but before Dempsey could accept a cup, Harry had appeared at his side and suggested they take their leave. He had broken into a genuine grin for the first time that evening.

As soon as they were alone and headed for the stairs, she slumped against him. He steadied her with his arm, feeling the full weight of her exhaustion.

"I'm sorry, James" she murmured. "That must have been excruciating for you."

He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again. It _had _been bad. No point denying it.

Now, as he rubbed her shoulders, she let her head fall back against him.

"What a night."

"Sure was. Those guys like a good time." He kept his eyes on the top of her head. It was late; too late to start dissecting the whole thing. Leave it for tomorrow, if at all.

She reached up and squeezed his hand.

"Believe me, this was not what I had in mind when I invited you to stay." Her eyes, big and full of concern, searched his face in the glass. Hell, it was impossible to be annoyed when she looked at him that way – he'd been powerless to resist it the first day he'd met her and now was no different.

"Daddy's dinner parties can be rather wild – I should have warned you. No excuse, but I'd forgotten just _how_ wild… it's been a while since I was last called on to attend one."

"Listen angel. My head's achin' from the wine, that's all. Let's just hit the sack, ok?"

He sat on the edge of the bed. This shirt felt as though it had been on his back forever. Slowly, he began to undo the buttons.

She swivelled around on the stool to face him. She was smiling but beneath the surface, her anxiety was acute.

"Come here," he said.

Gratefully, she moved to sit beside him. They embraced.

"We both need a night's sleep, princess, that's all."

"Help me get this off?"

She turned her back, and fumblingly, he undid the tiny hook at the top of her dress and pulled the zip down to her waist. She stood up and let the sheer black material fall to the floor, then retrieved it and shook it out before she hung it over the chair in the corner of the room.

He pulled his shirt off, and scooted back against the pillows, watching her move around the room. The eroticism of it didn't escape him, but he was bone tired. _They had tomorrow._

Harry slipped a cream silk slip over her head and got under the covers; Dempsey forced himself upright and unbuckled his trousers, dropping them beside the bed and shedding his socks before he got in beside her and turned out the light.

She sighed deeply and he moved into the centre of the bed so he could encircle her with his arms.

"You okay angel?"

"Mmmm."

In the darkness, she turned to face him. He could feel her breath against his face.

"There's one thing I can't sleep without saying. My uncle was rude to you. Don't think I didn't notice. I'm sorry."

He laughed shortly. "Yeah. A real charmer, that one. How comes he's like that? Your Dad ain't."

"Giles has always had a chip on his shoulder. Perhaps it's being so much younger than Freddy. And of course, Winfield Hall went to the first-born, although they live in a very nice property too. It's called the Gables – about 30 miles away.

"His wife's quite a looker. She's younger than him, ain't she?"

"Esther's his second wife. The first one died about fifteen years ago –cancer. The Winfield men haven't had much luck, have they? Aunt Jennifer, Mummy. Esther's alright though. I don't know her very well; she and Giles haven't been together longer than five years. She's frightfully into horses, I think. Show ponies, that sort of thing."

She continued sleepily,

"I remember Daddy telling me that Giles had designs on my mother once upon a time. Apparently, he was mad about her but she always felt he was a little too young. Then Mummy and Daddy fell in love, and the rest is history. Giles hit Daddy over it, would you believe? It was all so long ago. I doubt he holds a grudge now …"

She trailed off.

"Wasn't your mother closer to his age though?" he asked, but there was only regular breathing. She was asleep.

For a while, he lay running the evening's events through his head. It must be true what they said about the upper classes behaving disgracefully among their own. Her world was proving to be even more alien to him than he had suspected. And he doubted he would ever tell her how hurt he had been when she introduced him to her uncle only as her 'good friend.' Sure, it was early days with them, but their relationship was so much more than that, wasn't it? To him, it was.

Seeds of doubt and insecurity, planted in the darkness, found fertile ground in Dempsey's tired brain.

* * *

He awoke with a raging thirst. Disorientated in the pitch black, it took him a full five seconds to remember where he was. Reaching blindly for the comfort of Harry's sleeping body, he shook his head to clear away feverish dreams in which he was being forced to participate in an indoor grouse shoot at Winfield Hall. Again and again, he had returned to the Great Room, frantically searching for a nameless enemy behind statues and curtains until finally, frightened, he had gone to hide in the cellar. But when he descended the stairs, Mr and Mrs Everton-Smythe were lying naked at the bottom. In a panic, he brandished his gun, but they only smiled. "Come, come and join us…" they called, and he had felt scared and aroused in equal measure.

His digital watch said 5.42am. Swinging his legs onto the floor, he stood unsteadily and began to pick his way across the unfamiliar room. He tripped over one of his discarded shoes and swore. Finally, groping with his hands, he found his trousers and pulled them on.

He reached the door and slipped barefoot into the corridor. A dim light was burning at the end of the hall. He entered the bathroom. Sparse moonlight fell through the un-shaded windows across the floor, illuminating the tub in the centre of the room. Superstition prevented him from turning on the main light: he feared exposure. He padded across the room to the sink.

A glass tooth mug stood on a shelf and he filled it to the brim with water and gulped thirstily. After three cups-full, his throat felt less dry but his head was fuzzy and he knew he would still feel the effects of the wine when daybreak came.

Dempsey relieved himself and then filled the mug a final time, for Harry.

He was just about the open the door again when from outside, he heard a creak.


	5. Chapter 5

Quietly, he set down the water glass on the sink, and moved back to the door, listening.

Another creak. He stayed very still. There was no light outside the bathroom; whoever was there would be moving around in complete darkness. Or was it possible that it was only the floorboards of the old house, groaning in the night?

Instinct told him it was more than that; he could feel someone's presence. His mind searched for possibilities. This was Harry's wing - there were no other bedrooms in the vicinity. Had one of the impromptu guests elsewhere in the house risen and, still drunk, strayed down a corridor and got lost? Suddenly, decisively, he seized the door handle and yanked it open.

In the gloom, he could make out a figure emerging from the small sitting room ahead and to the left. As the bathroom door opened they quickened their pace without turning around. The person was tall, with short hair.

"Hey," Dempsey hissed urgently. "Hey you – stop!"

Almost as soon as the words were out of his mouth, the figure disappeared through the door at the end of the corridor. He moved after him, but by the time he reached the door, there was no one to be seen - the stranger had vanished. He retraced his steps and peered through the open sitting room door. Facing him was the couch where he and Harry had sat sipping gin and tonics in the early evening. All was silent and still. At a glance, Dempsey thought, the room appeared as if they had only just vacated it. He could see his clothes folded neatly over a chair where Harry had placed them after their bath. He'd never gotten around to putting them on again and despite his disquiet, he smiled at the memory. Maybe he was getting a bit TOO comfortable, parading around her father's place in the buff like that. Still, what Lord Winfield didn't know couldn't hurt him.

Then his thoughts returned to the intruder. Who would be sneaking around in the middle of the night? One of the servants, embarrassed to be caught? He would probably never know.

He was bare-chested and suddenly very cold. With a small shake of his head, he turned back towards the bedroom.

Closing the door quietly behind him, he paused for a moment, listening to Harry's regular breathing. Then he shed his trousers for the second time that night and climbed in beside her, settling next to her warmth. Sliding his arm around her waist, he fell gratefully back into sleep.

* * *

When he awoke again, the first thing he saw was Harry placing a tray containing tea cups and a silver pot carefully down on the bedside table. The heavy silk curtains were open, allowing cold sunlight to flood the room. He rolled over on his back, shielding his eyes against the brightness, and watched her move across the room, back to the window. The snow had settled in the night, leaving the sky a perfect blue. Unaware of his eyes on her, she surveyed the expanse of whiteness below and sighed. Her shoulder blades stuck out sharply beneath the sheer material of her shift nightdress.

"Mornin' princess. You made tea?" At the sound of his voice, she turned.

"You're awake. No, Porter left it outside for us. I forgot to tell him yesterday that you only drink coffee."

She came closer, and there was tenderness in her smile. "How're you feeling?"

He grinned back, rubbing his eyes.

"Not too bad – considering. What _happened_ last night? That was like no party I've ever been to before."

She was breezy. "Oh James, I've got so used to Daddy's friends' eccentricities over the years, I didn't think to warn you... I suppose with country people, being in relative isolation sends them all a little bit mad."

She perched on the side of the bed, leaning in to give him a kiss. He pulled her down towards him, prolonging it.

"What about you?" he asked when they broke apart. "You crazy like that too deep down, angel? Would you have joined right in if I hadn't been there to stop you?"

She laughed out loud.

"Of course!" Not only would I have joined in – I'd have been a ring leader."

She surveyed him with a look he had come to know well, checking to see whether or not he believed her. The edge of a smile played on her lips. His face must have betrayed uncertainty.

"Dempsey darling, be serious. I've always been strictly an observer, I promise. Besides, daddy would be mortified if I behaved badly at one of his parties. It may be alright for his friends, but not for his daughter."

That made sense to him – he couldn't exactly imagine her falling asleep at a dinner party table or propositioning one of the staff - but at the same time, he thought it did explain some things. He knew there _was_ another side to her that people rarely saw: a side that reveled in losing her inhibitions and 'letting her hair down'; that was the term the brits used, wasn't it? Harry didn't do things in half measures, and that included partying. He was probably one of the few people who knew that about her.

"What are you thinking?"

"Nothin' angel, nothin'at all."

"Don't believe you. You've got a mysterious look on your face." She was looking at him quizzically. He reached up and flipped her over onto the bed.

"Mysterious? I guess it's just my dirty mind at work again."

Some time later, they lay quietly, drifting on the morning calm. Her head was against his chest, and he stroked her hair absently, wondering what the day had in store for them and who they would meet. Suddenly, he remembered the night time encounter. He swore.

She lifted her head up in surprise. 'James?"

"Just remembered something. I woke up in the small hours, and there was someone outside the room. Sneakin' around."

She sat up. "Are you sure? Who would it be? There's no one staying in this wing but us, and the servants would never be here at that time."

"Angel, I'm tellin' you, there was definitely someone here. Looked like a guy – tall, with short hair. It was too dark to make anything out. Could've been a servant, I guess."

She frowned. "How odd. We can ask Daddy at breakfast if he asked anyone to come up here and tidy or anything."

He shook his head. "I think it's best not to mention anything. Let's leave it, okay?"

She nodded, still looking sceptical. He could see she was having a hard time believing it hadn't been some weird dream of his. He could've told her that had come _before_ the incident, but didn't.

"We should really get up and go down to breakfast," she said, after a pause.

"They'll be wondering where we are otherwise. It's after nine."

He sighed. "Breakfast babe? I'm still digesting all that cooked bird from last night."

"Sorry James. I know Daddy will have laid on smoked kippers especially for you."

He grimaced. He didn't usually like to look at food before around 11am, and then a bacon roll and black coffee was his preferred option. Oh well, it was just another thing for him to deal with at Winfield Hall, and the reason he was dealing with it was because he loved Harry. So it was all worth it, wasn't it? He just had to keep reminding himself of that.


	6. Chapter 6

The atmosphere at the breakfast table was subdued.

There were several couples from the previous night in attendance, all considerably less animated than they had been a few hours earlier. Indeed, the pale, wan faces that greeted them were hardly recognizable to Dempsey as the vibrant, loud and raucous guests they had barely managed to extricate themselves from the previous evening. The Everton-Smythes and the Quimbys were there, picking at dry toast and sipping gingerly on cups of tea. Mrs Quimby took one look at the kippers that were being served and blanched visibly before getting rather unsteadily to her feet and walking slowly out into the hall. She did not return.

Mrs Everton-Smythe may have been a shadow of her former self, but one glance at her ample bosom heaving under its tight mauve twin set transported Dempsey back to his confused dream. He shuddered and tried not to stare at her. The brain was a strange thing, he thought, trying to push the mental images away.

Once they were ensconced at the table however, he began to relax and to feel far more an ease than he had done the previous evening. The winter sunshine filtering through the bay windows lifted the atmosphere and he was pleased to find that contrary to expectation, he rather liked the taste of smoked kippers - especially when accompanied by scrambled eggs and grilled tomatoes. He was very hungry he realized, and Harry raised an eyebrow as he smothered his fourth piece of toast with butter. The food last night had been okay, but the whole evening was so fraught with tension, he'd found it difficult to eat very much.

He was touched to find that Harry had arranged for him to be served with a personal cafetiere of freshly brewed coffee. She herself stuck to tea, and refused the kippers in favour of her usual toast and marmalade.

Lord Winfield had welcomed them warmly when they entered the room; evidently he was delighted to see them. He jumped up and clapped Dempsey on the back, urging them to sit down. That he adored Harry was obvious to Dempsey: it was clear every time he looked at her, his eyes so full of pride. He knew Harry was close to her Father and it made him want to prove to Lord Winfield that he was worthy of her love; that he wasn't just some yank cowboy. Not that her father had ever really given him reason to believe he needed to prove himself. Her uncle though? That was another matter.

Just as he was thinking this, Giles and Esther entered the room. It seemed to him as though there was a tangible air of froideur that accompanied them. Esther, wearing a black wool dress that tightly hugged her ample curves, smiled briefly and vaguely in the direction of the guests before sitting down and accepting a cup of tea. Dempsey surveyed her with mild curiosity from the other end of the table. She was certainly attractive, in a hearty country - and very english - way. Her thick auburn hair fell around her face in waves, and her cheekbones were high. The face was slightly too gaunt though, which was strange because she was buxom, and not thin in the slightest. Feeling his gaze, she met his eyes before he looked away quickly.

Giles curtly refused Porter's offer of a cooked breakfast and retreated behind his newspaper, barely acknowledging anyone. Dempsey looked sideways at Makepeace and raised his eyebrow. She pointedly ignored him and a second later, he felt a light kick under the table.

"So Daddy" it seemed to be a cue for her to make some conversation; "I thought I'd take James on a tour of the grounds this morning. The weather's perfect for it. I really fancy a long walk. Why don't you join us for some of it?"

"I'd love to Harry dear," he replied, "but I really must grab the colonel before he leaves and press him on his plans for the Game Fair next month. Quite fortuitous that he ended up staying actually – although he's not managed to make an appearance yet, the old goat."

"That's fine. We'll see you for lunch in that case" she said.

Giles lowered his paper. "Going for a walk are you Harriet?" he said mildly. "Esther and I were planning on doing the same. The countryside is rather lovely in winter, isn't it? Although I can't think that it must hold much attraction for a New Yorker such as you, Mr Dempsey. This must be all terribly quiet and dull for you, surely?"

He smiled ingratiatingly and, Dempsey thought, extremely insincerely. It was the eyes that gave him away - they were two cold stones.

"On the contrary" he replied civilly, returning the smile was an equally false one of his own. "I love the English countryside. You can't beat it - so much beauty and space."

He decided to keep going.

"What about you, guess you grew up here?"

The man blinked at him. The question had been innocuous enough he thought, so why did it feel as if he'd committed a faux pas?

"I did," Giles said shortly. "This was my childhood home, just as it was Freddy's. I lived here until I was 18 years old and went up to Cambridge."

"You're lucky," said Dempsey. "Can't imagine what it must've been like, growing up in a place like this."

Giles opened his mouth to respond, and Dempsey suspected he was going to say something insulting about New York, but before he could speak, Harry cut in smoothly.

"I thought growing up here was amazing," she said, "but rather isolating too. The summer holidays could feel quite long sometimes. There weren't many other children around when I was growing up. My nanny was company, of course."

"Harriet was an only child, you see," said Giles, glancing at his niece briefly. "Poor little Harriet."

She chose to ignore the sneering tone. "Hardly poor" she laughed. "I had tons of friends at school. And Daddy spoilt me rotten in the holidays."

"Didn't do you any harm dear" said Freddy fondly. "You turned out alright in the end, eh, even if you did take up this police business."

Giles went back behind his paper without another word. Dempsey's strong sense of dislike for the man was rising by the minute. He pushed the remainder of his kippers away.

Then Esther, who had been a silent observer throughout the conversation, got to her feet.

'I'm going to smoke," she said, "Care to join me Isobel?" She directed this at Mrs Everton-Smythe. "Thank you awfully for breakfast, Freddy dear." Then she walked languidly out of the room.

That she hadn't eaten a thing did not escape Dempsey.

Without another word, Giles got up and followed them into the sitting room beyond. Dempsey watched his retreating back thoughtfully. He was certainly tall. He had no hair to speak of. Could it have been….? Impossible to say after the fleeting glimpse, the darkness of the night and his half asleep state. But never say never. It was possible, oh yes.


	7. Chapter 7

Before setting off on their walk, they wrapped up warmly against the cold: Lord Winfield had tried to persuade him to wear tweeds, but Dempsey resolutely refused, opting instead for a second sweater under his leather jacket. The result was a little tight but anything was better than becoming a parody of an English gent. If Harry ever let such a thing slip at HQ, the embarrassment would be enough to make him leave the country.

The air outside was crisp, and he stood on the patio at the back of the house breathing it in gratefully. The spaciousness of Winfield Hall hadn't prevented him experiencing a kind of claustrophobia; it felt _so_ good to be out in the open. In front of them the landscape stretched away, fresh snow whitening the fields as far as the eye could see and thickly coating everything in the grounds, from the large fountain to the symmetrical topiary beyond.

_This _is my idea of a holiday, he thought. Just as beautiful as the landscape was Harry herself. The cold suited her. She stood beside him with sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks, and on impulse he enveloped her in a hug, kissing her hard on the lips and laughing as he heard her gasp. At their feet, Lord Winfield's spaniel Jasper barked excitedly, sensing their happiness and the prospect of a long walk.

"Steady" her gloved fingers restrained him while her eyes said something quite different. Taking his cue from the eyes and not the hands, he grabbed her hips, pushing her up against the low patio wall. They kissed for a long time, and he was about to request that they take a rain check with the walk and just go back to bed when she broke away and took his hand, pulling him towards the stone steps that lead to the grounds.

"Come on James, let's walk. I want to show you the place where I grew up."

Jasper scurried ahead of them. It was a familiar route to him and he soon disappeared down a narrow track in the middle of a copse of trees.

"Jasper!" she called. "Don't go too far."

"Do you know him?" Dempsey asked.

She wrinkled her nose in the way he loved.

"Not directly, actually. I know his ancestors though. He must be the great grandson of Cassie, a dog I had when I was a girl. She was beautiful – died when I was in my first year at Cambridge. It's lovely to see Jasper, so full of life."

"Like you then." They smiled at each other. Now they had reached the entrance to the copse and walked hand in hand along the narrow tree-lined track, not talking; relishing the solitude and togetherness and the nature around them. It was quiet, but despite the cold and the snow, there was still the faint, slightly eery sound of a bird calling, somewhere in the trees.

Jasper ran some metres in front, trotting back every so often to remind them of his allegiance then sprinting off again, lured by the smell of something - perhaps rabbit - that hadn't been completely obliterated by the snow. Sometimes his curiosity was too intense and he burrowed deeply enough to dislodge loose powder from branches above, which then fell on top of him so he retreated, shaking his head vigorously. At these times and to Dempsey's amusement, he would look back at them reproachfully, as if chastising them for not warning him of the pitfalls.

Eventually, the copse thinned out and they were in open countryside again. They continued walking alongside of the wood, as the sky grew more overcast now that the early morning brightness had burned off.

Dempsey loved the way the land before him was divided up into such neat little patchworks. Clear against the skyline was a single hill, stark against the otherwise flat landscape.

Harry saw him looking. "Lennox Hill" she said. I used to walk there all the time. It's a good five miles away. From the top there are wonderful views, you can see all over the county. It appealed to my need for solitude. Sometimes I would take a book and stay there all day."

"Sure like to go there with you some day, babe. In summer, maybe."

"Yes. You'll love it here in summer too, James. It's completely different of course. But still wonderful."

She looked wistful. "Sometimes I wonder how I manage, living in London. Coming back here reminds me of all the space I grew up with. London is just the opposite."

Dempsey looked at her in alarm. "You ain't thinkin' of givin' up the city are you angel?'

"Oh, of course not." She sighed. "I love London, of course I do. I could never come back here to live permanently – I'd probably be bored, for a start. But just here, now - breathing it all in – it makes me realize that perhaps I should visit more often. Never mind that Daddy isn't getting any younger."

He put his arm around her. "I reckon your old man's got a fair bit of life in him yet."

She didn't answer. They had stopped walking and were leaning up against a fence, listening to the silence. Jasper dropped panting to the packed-down snow at Harry's feet, tired at last.

He chose his words carefully. "You know, if you wanted to spend more time here, I'd be open to comin' with you more often. As opposed to spending every weekend in London. Gotta lot of time for your Dad."

She nestled against his shoulder, looked up into his face. "Do you really mean that? Don't think I don't know how hard this weekend's been for you – and it's only Saturday morning!"

He tightened his arm around her. He couldn't deny that being in her environment was difficult. It was just so alien to him, was the truth of the matter. But he also knew that his love for her made that sort of irrelevant. This was where she was from. Compared to the trials of their actually getting together, this was nothing.

"Harry – I do." He said.

She turned into him and kissed him. When she pulled away, he saw that there were tears in her eyes.

"You make me happy James Dempsey. Do you know that? It's this funny feeling I'm trying to get used to."

He smiled, his heart feeling suddenly lighter than air. None of it mattered: class difference, nationality difference, friends, family, colleagues – nothing and no one. The only thing that mattered was the two of them.

"I know babe – cos you make me happy too," he said, and they looked deep into each other's eyes. Gently with his finger, he wiped away her unspilled tear.

Then Jasper got to his feet and shook himself. His mistress had stayed still for too long, he decided. He gave a little bark.

Dempsey laughed, reached down for a nearby stick and threw it.

"Fetch that, you crazy mutt."

Elated and unaffected by the name-calling, Jasper raced away. They continued on their walk.


	8. Chapter 8

Two hours later, they were starting to feel the cold. They had walked quite a distance: all along the wood-side path, then out of the grounds themselves and into the open countryside. In the solitude of the fields beyond Winfield Hall they had let themselves go, laughing, throwing snowballs and chasing one another. Harry screamed in abandonment as Dempsey threw her over his shoulder and threatened to deposit her in a snowdrift, letting her go only when she dropped melting snow down his back. Jasper danced around them barking madly, thoroughly enjoying himself.

But by early afternoon the day was more overcast then ever and incredibly, they could sense the beginnings of dusk. There was a dull tinge of purple in the sky and a smell of new snow on the way. They had missed lunch, and both of them suddenly felt tired and hungry.

"I think you and Jasper have had enough exercise to keep you out of trouble for the rest of today," said Harry, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck. "Let's go and get something to eat and spend the rest of the afternoon by the fire with the papers. With any luck, Daddy's overnight guests should have all departed by the time we get back."

"Sure babe" he took her hand again and they began to walk back in the direction of the hall.

"Not sure how I feel being put in the same category as a dog, but Jasper's a pretty cool dog, so I guess I'll let you off this once. Don't count on me being all tired out though," He grinned at her enticingly. She raised an eyebrow.

Back in the grounds, Harry ignored the entrance to the path they had taken earlier. "It's about the same distance if we go around the periphery of the wood, and that way I can show you our lake."

As they approached the edge of the trees, they heard shouting. Instinctively, Dempsey slowed his pace, gripping Harry's hand tighter. In the quiet of the afternoon, the sound of angry voices carried jarringly across the grounds. Sharply, Harry called Jasper to heel.

They advanced to the end of the copse and rounded a corner so the lake came into view below them, at the bottom of a gentle incline.

Giles and Esther were standing on the lakeside path. Facing each other, they were clearly in the midst of a serious argument.

"I'm telling you now Giles" Esther was saying, hands on her hips. Even from a distance, they could see the sharp red blotches on her pale cheeks. Anger pulsed from her body.

"I'm not going to stand for it anymore. You need to sort it out, and sort it out fast."

"You know I'm going to. For God's sake, why don't you just lay off me?"

Giles spoke in a harsh voice Harry had never heard before. He turned his back on his wife and paced back and forth.

"Just leave it to me and keep your nose out."

Esther drew herself up, staring fixedly at him. For a moment Dempsey thought she was going to strike him. At that instant, Giles whirled around and saw the two of them standing by the trees. He froze momentarily, then he turned on his heel and without another word, marched off. Esther was left standing alone. She turned to see the cause of her husband's departure, and looked visibly shocked to see them standing there.

Harry raised a hand. "Hello Aunt Esther."

There seemed to be nothing else to do but to proceed down the bank to meet her. By the time they reached her she appeared dazed, as though completely lost in her own world, which had now been rudely interrupted. Her red lipstick contrasted with the pallor of her face, and her auburn hair and the fur coat she wore gave her a look of Cruella de Ville, Dempsey couldn't help thinking.

"Sorry Harriet," she said, nodding stiffly in Dempsey's direction.

"That you had to see that, I mean. We're fine, honestly. Just a… minor disagreement."

"Of course, it's none of our business at all. I hope everything's alright," said Harry awkwardly. The three of them stood there in a silence for a few seconds and Dempsey managed to refrain from making a crass joke about the possibility of pushing her husband into the frozen water. He knew it was nerves that made him want to make light of the situation, but he could sense it would be ill-advised.

The three of them set off back to the house together. The lovely mood of their walk was just a memory. Esther was subdued and depressed, barely responding to Harry's polite questions about her ponies and charity work. Dempsey was very glad when they entered the warmth of Winfield Hall and went their separate ways.

* * *

There was no sign of Lord Winfield and so they sat in the small parlour to eat the soup and smoked salmon sandwiches that Porter set out for them. Then Harry suggested that they retire to the bedroom for a while. She was tired out from the walk, she said. The house seemed very quiet, almost as if everybody had decided to take a siesta.

Snow was falling in thick flakes by the time they returned to Harry's wing. At this rate he thought, staring out of the window, it might be sensible to leave earlier than planned tomorrow. He didn't want to have to explain to Spikings on Monday why both he and Makepeace were absent due to weather conditions. Neither of them was ready to have that conversation.

As if reading his thoughts, she came and stood next to him and they watched the blizzard together for a while. She put her head on his shoulder. "Let's just make the most of this time alone" she said softly. "The morning's been so nice. I don't want to think about leaving just yet. About going back to the real world."

"That makes two of us, princess."

Presently, he felt her hand slide around his back and travel down to cup his buttock.

"Why Lady Makepeace, what on earth are you doing?" he affected a surprisingly accurate upper-class accent.

"I believe, Lieutenant, I'm about to rip your clothes off."

"Really?" He grinned. "Guess I'd better come away from this window then. There's a helluva draft." Even as he said it he berated himself. _Quit with the jokes already._ _Enjoy the seduction_.

But she didn't notice his flippancy. If she had been coy outside on the patio, she was anything but now. Her eyes, black with desire, fixed on him. At these times, he thought, she changed into something almost elemental, something animal. He loved her in a different kind of way when she was like this. She put her hands under his sweater and the feel of her nails scraping

against the skin of his back sent an electric shock through him. He pulled it roughly over his head, and they fell onto the bed, grappling together.

Their lovemaking was urgent, not slow or romantic, and was over quickly as they climaxed simultaneously, calling out unheedingly. Afterwards, they lay panting, almost overwhelmed by the intensity. Finally, Harry gave a soft laugh.

"I obviously wasn't as tired as I thought I was," she murmured, stroking the damp hair on his chest. But very soon, he felt her head grow heavier against him, and her body jerked violently in the way it often did as she fell asleep.

He wasn't drowsy, though. His mind was active; for once, their passion appeared to have revitalized, rather than fatigued him. Gently, he lifted her head off his chest and onto the pillow. She didn't stir. Then he got off the bed and went to shower. After dressing, he decided to investigate the small library he knew was situated directly below her wing. Maybe there are some books on Winfield history, he thought to himself. _I could use a bit of background knowledge._

He jogged downstairs, humming. Outside the library door however, he stopped short. In the silence of the afternoon was the distinct sound of sobbing from within. Curious, he turned the handle and opened the door.


	9. Chapter 9

On entering the library he couldn't immediately see anyone, and for a moment he wondered if the noise had only been his imagination. The room was lined with shelves of impressively bound books and the two large leather couches at its centre were empty. Reading lamps on the oak occasional tables adjacent to each couch glowed greenly in the late afternoon gloom.

Then the sound came again, clearly this time – a stifled sob. Dempsey moved towards it and saw that at the side of the large bay window was a little alcove, with armchairs to afford more privacy. Esther was curled up in one of them, looking considerably smaller and more crumpled than she had done out by the lake.

At first, she didn't appear to register his presence, and he stood watching her uncertainly. He was just pondering whether to turn around and creep unobtrusively away, when she looked up at him.

Her eyes were red and watery; her face mottled and raw, as if she had been weeping for a long time. Nonetheless, there was a certain quiet defiance in the way she met his gaze, as if letting him know she was unapologetic at being caught in such a desolate, private moment. Dempsey felt very awkward but also, he had to admit it - curious. The cop in him wanted to probe, to find out more. There was clearly a story with Esther and her husband and his instincts were niggling at him to find out what it was.

"Hey," he said.

"Hello." She continued to regard him with flat eyes.

"Sorry to disturb you. I was just lookin' for something to read. You want me to leave you alone?"

Despite himself, despite his dislike of her husband, another instinct was rising too. He didn't like to see a woman cry, no matter who she was.

Esther sniffed and swiped at her face with the back of her hand.

"Oh no, I'm terribly sorry. You have every right to be here, of course you do. It's frightfully silly of me to sit here so upset. I should have found somewhere more private. Usually, I'll go for a walk in the grounds if I want to be alone, but the weather today…." She trailed off.

"Sure. It's hard to be truly alone sometimes, even in a big old pile like this." He perched tentatively on the armchair that was the twin of hers and patted the pockets of his jeans, hoping that by some miracle, there would be a tissue in one of them. There wasn't.

"You want me to get you something? A glass of water?"

"No, thank you – James, isn't it? I'll be all right. These weekend visits can get a bit much for me, that's all it is. I know you saw us arguing earlier, so it won't come as a surprise for you to hear that Giles and I aren't getting on well at the moment. I'll put myself together in time for dinner, don't worry."

She looked up at him through wet lashes, gave a small, faltering smile. For some reason, Dempsey was reminded of Princess Diana. At least that was an improvement on Cruella de Ville, he thought.

He shifted a little, indecisive. It seemed callous to just get up and start browsing the shelves as though nothing was wrong. At the same time, he wasn't sure what else to say, and the way she was looking at him gave him the uncomfortable impression that any small amount of encouragement on his part would prompt her to confide in him. He realized his initial curiosity about her had vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Esther wasn't some stranger in a bar, or even another cop, looking for advice; this was Harry's family and he sensed intuitively that her confidences could open a Pandora's box he might not be able to close.

Thinking this, he made to get up and leave but before he could, she reached out and touched his hand.

"He doesn't hit me or anything. I wouldn't want you to think that." Tears welled afresh in her eyes. "He's a good man really. Please don't say anything to Harriet either. I don't really know her very well, I don't know if she said. She was all grown up long before I married Giles and we don't get together with his side of the family as often as we should do."

She looked at him beseechingly. He patted her awkwardly on the arm.

"Hey, no worries. I won't say a word. Sorry to hear you're having problems."

"Don't feel sorry for me, James. You choose a book. I think I'll just sit here a while longer and compose myself. Thank you for listening. Harriet's a very lucky woman."

There was a note in her voice when she said this that made him even more uncomfortable. He got to his feet.

"Well – thanks. I guess I'll see you at dinner. You take care."

She nodded with another weak smile.

Dempsey returned to the bookshelves but the tension in the room meant he was completely unable to focus. In the end, he picked up a medium-sized brown leather bound volume, barely glancing at the cover before gratefully making his exit.

* * *

When he opened the door to the bedroom, the sight of Harry lying among the sheets was sweet. She looked at him blearily and he moved to the bed and kissed her, smoothing her tousled hair. Yawning, she sat up, pulling the covers around her.

"What have you got there?" She took the book from his hands.

"_The Inclosure Act 1772: Impact on Farming and the General Population"_ she read, and looked at him incredulously.

"Dempsey, I'm truly delighted you're intent on broadening your understanding of the English countryside, but this is taking things a bit far, isn't it?"

"You know me angel, always looking to improve my mind, any way I can. You can never tell what knowledge is going to come in handy." He grinned at her warily.

"How is a book about Georgian land reform going to help a 20th Century American police officer, d'you think?"

"Hey, we might be called on to round up a load of rogue sheep on the streets of London. It ain't beyond the realms of impossibility, you know!"

She didn't answer. The expression on her face said it all.


	10. Chapter 10

If the previous night's preparations had been rushed, Dempsey's ablutions for dinner compensated for it in their meticulousness. They had taken another long bath and washed each other's hair. Now he felt invigorated and relaxed in equal measure.

Back in the bedroom he surveyed his reflection in the full-length mirror, adjusting the bow tie so it lay straight against the starched whiteness of his shirt. Bow ties were still relatively new to him – he hadn't had much use for them in New York – and he had to admit, he was kind of getting to like them: they added a certain level of sophistication that he relished. Behind him, Harry was stepping into a sheer, petrol blue cocktail dress. He whistled softly, and she smiled shyly at him in the glass. That she still retained a hint of self-consciousness despite the depth of their intimacy made her even more attractive, somehow.

He was actually looking forward to this evening. Giles and Esther would be in attendance of course, but so would Colonel Aldred, who evidently hadn't gotten around to leaving earlier and would be staying on at the Hall for a second night. He hoped the colonel would help lighten the mood; he'd been entertaining the previous evening in a gregarious, drunken sort of a way.

Dempsey knew it was the day he and Harry had shared that had put him in this positive frame of mind. He couldn't remember a happier one. Spending those precious hours together had brought them even closer. It made him feel that if only they could be like this all the time, nothing bad would ever happen because they had each other. The idea of being with her forever wasn't the scary thought it might once have been with anyone else. Indeed, the fear he felt was in the possibility of losing her.

At the same time, paradoxically, he knew he also felt more relaxed because they were leaving tomorrow to go back to London. He pushed the knowledge away feeling guilty and disloyal, but he couldn't deny it was there. Their time alone had been amazing – intimate and special – but it strongly contrasted with the time spent with Harry's relatives. He couldn't shake the feeling of being a fish out of water, and he didn't like it. It was naïve to think, as he might once have done, that he could bluster his way through any situation and rub along with most types of people. Being in the UK had taught him that life wasn't so simple. Sure he'd adapted in his daily life, and at SI-10, had even found a comfortable niche: he was a 'yank', but he was one of the guys. At Winfield Hall, he knew instinctively, he would never be 'one of the guys', no matter how warm and welcoming Harry's father might be; the barriers of class and upbringing were simply too high for him to overcome. He would simply never feel like he belonged. How he would handle that in the long-term – if there was a long term – he wasn't sure.

She slipped on low kitten heels and moved towards him.

"Ready?' Her eyes smiled as she touched him on the arm, pulling him out of his reverie. Sighing, he put his arms around her and kissed her, then leaned back to appraise her properly.

"You look beautiful, princess."

"Thanks darling. You look pretty good too. Let's go and have a good time. And try to relax!"

"Who said I wasn't relaxed?"

She didn't answer immediately, just kissed him again. Her eyes told him how much she understood.

"You know what I mean. Remember, you're with me. I'll have anyone who disrespects you escorted off the premises."

They walked downstairs and before they joined the others in the drawing room, kissed one last time. He leaned into her, not wanting to let her go.

"I love you, Harry."

"I love you too," she whispered. They had only started saying it to each other very recently and the words in his mouth felt unfamiliar and potent. He squeezed her hand and then guided her towards the door.

She entered the room first. The rest of the party was already assembled, and he immediately sensed that something was wrong. The atmosphere was sombre and there was no buzz of chatter. It was as though they had simply been sitting there in silence, waiting for them.

Neither of them moved from the doorway. After several moments, Lord Winfield rose from his armchair close to the fire and took a few steps towards them. Dempsey was alarmed by his appearance: his complexion was waxy and his mouth worked convulsively. He looked at Harry beseechingly. Finally, as though woken from a dream, she spoke.

"Daddy, what is it?"

He looked at Dempsey, then back to his daughter.

"Harriet darling. Something terrible had happened. Your mother's jewelry – it's all gone. Thompson discovered it only an hour ago. We've been robbed."

For some reason, Dempsey's eyes were drawn to Giles, sitting at the far end of the room. He hadn't turned to acknowledge their entrance, but now he fixed Dempsey with a cold stare. It was the first time they had seen one another since their encounter by the lake.

Harry didn't notice - she was only aware of her Father as she lead him back to the fire and helped him into the armchair.

"But I don't understand," she was saying. "Has someone broken in? Porter, bring Daddy some brandy."

Porter was there almost instantly, re-filling Lord Winfield's glass and then those of the others.

"I keep it all in a safe in one of the back bedrooms – silly really, I knew I should have put it in secure storage, but I like to have it close. Occasionally, I get it out to look at; I suppose this serves me right for being such a sentimental old fool."

He paused, lip trembling. Dempsey looked away.

"The key's been hidden in the same place for so long, and hardly anyone knows where it is. But someone's found it and has opened the safe – all of it gone. I don't know what to say Harry, it was for you of course – all yours. And now, gone!"

The unshed tears were brimming in his eyes, and now in Harry's too. He clasped his daughter's hand and bowed his head. Dempsey swallowed. It wasn't only the value of the jewels of course, he knew that. Her Mother's jewelry was perhaps the strongest link with her they both still had. He felt strange and more of an outsider than ever – watching this small family unit and their grief for a lost wife and mother.

After several minutes, Lord Winfield recovered himself a little.

"The worst thing about all of this," he said, "is that the only conclusion I can come to is that it must be someone here. I'm certain we'd know if there had been a break in. We can't be sure when exactly the robbery took place, but Thompson last checked the safe on Thursday afternoon so it has to be within the last 48 hours. As far as pinpointing an exact time goes though, it's impossible. The key is hidden and certain trusted servants do know its whereabouts. The idea of being betrayed by one of the staff, it's just too much…"

"Shhh." She rubbed his back as he hunched over, soothing him as one would a child. From her position crouched down by her father, she looked back at Dempsey. Her eyes were bleak and he knew one thing – this was the start of a very long night.


	11. Chapter 11

It was another three hours before they were able to extricate themselves and escape, exhausted, to the sanctuary of the private wing.

After the revelation of the robbery, dinner had been abandoned and the local police called. Lord Winfield was in a terrible state, and Harry had come close to telephoning their GP. But the roads were thick with snow and she knew that Dr Aims, a family friend, would insist on traveling to check on him so she reluctantly decided to wait until morning. In the end, Freddy gave a brief statement before retiring upstairs. Harry went to sit with him, leaving Dempsey to deal with the situation downstairs.

Sergeant Timms, the local officer on duty was in his early thirties; ruddy cheeked and with a deep double chin. Dempsey made him aware of their SI-10 status, but if he was impressed he didn't show it. He leaned in confidentially and told Dempsey that he thought it was best if he was left to handle things, then lead the way through to the drawing room where the other guests were gathered.

They were questioned about their whereabouts throughout the day.

"Giles and I were walking in the grounds in the early afternoon," said Esther, "and then I spent the afternoon in the library reading." She glanced at Dempsey.

"I was doing some paperwork in the study," Giles added. His colour was very hectic, Dempsey noticed. Surely it couldn't only be due to the heat of the fire. As if sensing his thoughts, Giles turned on him and said viciously,

"What about _you_, Lieutenant? Where were _you_ this afternoon?"

Dempsey took at deep breath and fought to keep his temper. You didn't need to be a mind reader to work out where this one was going, he thought to himself angrily. Blame it on the American.

"I was with Harry all afternoon, upstairs," he said, and the Sergeant scribbled it down in his notebook. "You really wanna know what we were doing?"

Colonel Aldred, coughed and took another gulp of his brandy. Seeing Dempsey's anger, he stood up and laid a hand on Giles's arm.

'Come on old chap, I'm sure it's the truth that Mr Dempsey was with Harriet all afternoon," he said in a placatory voice. "Let's not be like this."

Porter stepped forward from his discreet position by the door.

'Sergeant," he said, "I think we can all vouch for the fact that no one saw anything suspicious during the course of the afternoon. "We do have a staff of around eight here at the hall although there is only myself and our Cook on duty tonight. Perhaps the best thing will be for you to come back in the morning and question them all more closely – they get in around 8am. A few of them know the whereabouts of the safe and the key you see; Lord Winfield's particularly upset about that. All the staff members are trusted and long serving, but I suppose one never knows… "

"Including you?" Giles asked in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Of course," Porter answered coldly.

Sergeant Timms laughed nervously, and readily agreed that coming back first thing was the best course of action. Dempsey sensed his eagerness to leave and swallowed his irritation. These provincial coppers, he thought. What did they do, anyway? Investigate lost cats and minor scuffles on the village green. With monumental effort, he kept his mouth shut. Giles insisted on seeing the policeman out, clapping him on the back in a proprietary way and guiding him to the door. On his way past, he mumbled something almost inaudible, but Dempsey caught the words 'unknown quantity', and 'not to be trusted.' His heart started pounding wildly and he clenched his fists. There was something about the guy that made him itch to hit him. Again, he just managed to control himself.

Harry came back downstairs briefly to organize sandwiches and tea for the guests. Neither of them had any appetite themselves.

* * *

Now they were upstairs in her little sitting room. She sat down on the couch and began to cry.

"I've never seen Freddy look like that before," she fought for breath; "so frail. I know he's over seventy, but I've never thought of him as an old man. It's his eyes I suppose – they're always so full of life. But tonight, the spark was gone. It frightened me."

He held her, tried to comfort her, but couldn't disagree with her - Lord Winfield _had_ seemed old tonight. He thought about how quickly it could happen to a person; how one event could knock them and age them irrevocably. He had seen it with his grandmother: in her case, it had been a fall - relatively minor - but that one event seemed to serve to make her aware that she was mortal after all. After that, the fight went out of her and the end had been swift. He didn't want to think of that happening to Freddy and so he spoke words that he wanted very much to believe.

"Listen honey, he's going to feel better tomorrow. He'll bounce back – he's a tough one. We're gonna find whoever took the stuff and get it back - for you and your Dad."

"How could anyone be so callous? It makes me so angry," she said. She was dry-eyed now, sitting erect. "You know, most of my memories of her are vague, but one that's very clear is of her silver necklace: she never took it off. I used to play with it sitting on her knee. It's always comforted me to know it's here; a part of her that's with us. I kept meaning to ask Daddy to give it to me so I could wear it. Now it's too late."

"No it's not," he told her forcefully. "It ain't like you to be defeatist, angel. We're gonna get it back."

She turned to face him. "James, will you stay on tomorrow? I have to be with Daddy and I'm not sure I can do it without you."

He leaned his head so it was resting against hers. "I'm not going anywhere."

It struck him then that he had been worrying for nothing – or at any rate, about all the wrong things. She needed him, of course she did. Maybe Freddy needed him too. It was the sort of need that was stronger than any class barrier.

"Let's try and get some rest," he said eventually. "We're gonna have to be alert tomorrow."

She nodded and squeezed his hand tightly, as if drawing strength from it. Then she rose from the sofa and began to move restlessly about the room, straightening furniture and closing the curtains against the night. She'd specifically requested that the housekeeper not clean over the weekend to ensure their privacy, so the room looked a little in disarray. His jacket and trousers were still lying over the back of one of the chairs from the previous evening.

As she picked up the jacket and shook it out, something dropped from the pocket to the floor, something small and sparkling. She frowned and bent down to retrieve it. Then he saw her face change.

She held it out to him: one small silver earring.

Her expression was uncomprehending, shocked.

He stood up and went towards her. "What is it?"

"James, I…" she was clutching the earring, looking at him, then it, then back to him again.

"It's one of her earrings."

Part of him had known subconsciously what it was. He recovered himself quickly.

"What's it doing in my? That's crazy. I don't know where it came from, I promise you!" His mind was racing.

"How can it be here?" she whispered. He reached for her, but she moved subtly away from him.

"Baby, I don't know. I have no idea…."

Something switched on in his brain.

"The guy from last night, the one who was sneaking around here! He planted it! That's the only explanation."

Harry stopped moving. There was relief in her face, but not before Dempsey registered the doubt that had preceded it. And it hurt - hurt terribly; but now was not the time to think about that. He had to focus.

"Yeah, it has to be."

He knew it was the truth, he felt it in his bones. Someone had been poking around in the sitting room – someone who had run away from him. It had baffled him at the time, but he hadn't thought to thoroughly check anything. There were no valuables in the room and it had never occurred to him that the intruder might be depositing something rather than removing it.

"Harry I don't know who that was, but whoever it was, for some reason, they're out to get me.

She sank down onto the couch again, drained of energy. She turned the little earring over in her fingers, and it shone in the half-light.

'It doesn't make sense," she said slowly, 'why would someone try to frame you like that?"

He came next to her. "Listen to me," he looked her in the eye, "I need to know you believe me. You have to, Harry, otherwise I'm gonna die of a broken heart. We trust each other don't we?"

She looked back at him, her eyes clear and sad. "Yes, we do," she said. "I believe you James, of course I do. Remember what I said last night, about never really knowing a person? That may be true, but I know you well enough to know you're telling me the truth. Besides," she laughed, "purely from a Detective's point of view, you would never had had the time alone, or the know-how to carry it out. Someone has planted it – to mess with your head, or in the hopes that I'd find it. And I have no more idea than you as to why. The only thing I can think is that it seems more likely that it's someone we know – someone here."

"There's one guy I can think of, springs to mind," Dempsey said grimly.

"Who?" She looked at him quizzically.

"Your uncle. Don't trust him as far as I could throw him. Think we'd better have a little chat in the morning."

She sighed deeply but didn't disagree. After a pause she said, "Let's just go to bed."

They lay side by side, not touching or talking as they had done the previous night. In the silence, Dempsey reflected on the events of the past few hours. His new-found self-belief and the sadness of Lord Winfield's loss.

The protector in him knew that he would go to any lengths to shield Harry from pain or danger. But no sooner had his confidence and sense of invincibility blossomed, the discovery of the earring had knocked him back down. The momentary doubt in her eyes would stay with him for a long time. Just for a second, she had wondered if he was capable of it, and that was enough to bring all of the demons he had banished back stronger and more persistent than ever. He thought that he would lie awake all night, but in the end he fell suddenly - exhausted, empty and sad – into a sleep that was devoid of dreams.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry awoke in the small hours, cold. It took her a moment or two to remember the events of the previous evening; when she did, the tension headache began again, gripping her skull tightly.

She shifted around in the bed and willed herself to fall back asleep but it was no good, the thoughts had started – crowding in like malevolent black winged creatures.

Now, the memory of her father's distress seemed even more terrible than it had done in actuality. The way his eyes had fixed on hers, uncomprehending… for the first time, she really understood how it felt to need to protect someone, to feel you would do anything in your power to make things right. Freddy didn't deserve to feel such anguish; he had been through enough in his life already and it wasn't clear to her how much more he could endure. Lying in the darkness, the weight of responsibility hung heavy over Harry. She was her father's only daughter, his single immediate relative.

What am I doing, she thought to herself, running around the city; putting myself in danger every day? But as she did, she experienced a feeling of dissonance that wasn't entirely new to her: police work was what she was supposed to do. She knew that if she tried to be anything else, she could probably make it work, but that a little part of her – okay, a big part – would wither and die. Her elevation to SI-10 had been the proudest achievement of her life, and for all his joking about 'this police business', her father too was ridiculously proud. She didn't think it would make him particularly happy to know that she had given up her career to pursue a safer one for his sake.

Besides, she had Dempsey. She turned over and looked at him. He lay beside her, flat on his back. In the crepuscular half-light, his face showed a vulnerability that would vanish completely before daybreak. The way his eye lashes lay softly against his cheek made him seem almost childlike, despite the dark stubble on his face.

She was glad he was sleeping peacefully. It pained her terribly to think that there had been an attempt to implicate him in the disappearance of the jewellery. Was it because he was an outsider, and therefore an easy target? Perhaps. But somehow, it had seemed more malicious than that, as if someone wanted to deliberately harm him. And why would anyone want to do that here, where he was all but a stranger?

Her mind was working. James suspected Giles, and she considered that. Giles had always been a queer fish; something of a loner ever since she could remember, certainly not a warm or outwardly caring man. His first wife had been enough of those things for both of them. Jennifer hadn't been particularly glamorous: a no-nonsense, hale and hearty countrywoman who said what she thought. But the frank exterior belied a kind heart and a sensible head, and she had worked to maintain family ties, rubbing off Giles's corners and making the effort to see Harry and Freddy regularly. When she died suddenly, Giles had floundered - until he met Esther.

Harry didn't know Esther very well, but, she reflected, that was surely due in part to the fact that the couple no longer made such an effort to visit or keep in touch. In recent years, Giles's old resentments had seemed to return, driven perhaps in part by the rivalry the two brothers had had, the competition for her mother's affections which Freddy of course, had duly won.

Was that enough to make him do something as extreme as this, she wondered? It wasn't as though Giles was badly off, relatively speaking – his property and assets, as far as she knew, were not inconsiderable. Nevertheless, jealousy could be irrational. Did her uncle hate her father, hate him enough to do this to him and then try to pin it on Dempsey? Perhaps he hated her too, just because she reminded him of her mother, the woman who had spurned him. It must rankle to be faced with that every time you visited your own family. If Giles felt he were second best, that he had been denied things that were rightfully his, a sure way to get revenge would be to hurt Harry by destroying the man she loved.

Turning these thoughts over in her head, they felt far-fetched. At the same time, the night had a funny way of making unlikely things seem suddenly possible. A second feeling of protectiveness came over her then, the need to protect James. He was always that way with her; it was one of the things she loved about him, despite her protestations to the contrary. She felt safe with him, which in itself was another reason for her father not to worry. When they were together, it was as though an invisible force field worked to encircle them, as long as they worked as a team. Their combined strength was so much more than what they had as individuals. She thought she would tell Freddy that, when she got the chance.

An attack on him was an attack on her, too. Harry's natural instinct was to distrust. She had grown up self-sufficient: without a mother from an early age and sent to a boarding school where it was sink or swim. She swam, but along the way she learned that it was wiser to be cautious. Not that she was cynical; she just generally had more confidence in herself than she did in others. Her ex-husband had been a disappointment. He had lied to her and cheated on her repeatedly, finally with one of her closest friends. At the end of the marriage she was bruised and battered, and more firm than ever in her conviction that most people were not to be trusted.

Then James had come along. It had taken her a long, long time to let down her guard, a lot of hours of working together. Slowly though, they had built a rapport. Respect had followed, and finally, painfully, so had trust – and love. So far, he hadn't disappointed her. Of course, their personalities sparked off each other like metal wheels colliding, each spinning on its own determined axis. Their arguments could be spectacular, but all that was sort of irrelevant, now she thought about it. Falling backwards off a cliff, she would trust him to be there to catch her. If she called him in the middle of the night to tell him she needed him, she would trust him to be there twenty minutes later. She knew who he was, and who he wasn't. And who he _wasn't _was a liar and a thief.

She tossed and turned. Dawn – a freezing, lack-lustre dawn – was beginning to break, creeping under the bedroom curtains and turning the darkness into dirty half-light. Finally, she slipped from under the covers and crept, barefoot to the window.

Harry found the gap in the curtains and peered out at the frozen grounds of Winfield Hall. The snow created an unending white blanket across the lawns, thickly coating low walls and covering the branches of each tree with a silver shroud. Then she looked again. There were footsteps in the snow below, and not footsteps from yesterday, half filled-in by the fresh fall. These were brand new tracks, bold across the dark lawn – leading away from the house towards the copse of trees.

Something fired off in her brain. They seemed to be leading to a place she hadn't thought about in a very long time, not since she was a child, to be exact. A place forgotten long ago, although perhaps not by everyone.

Quickly, she moved away from the window, and then she was opening the wardrobe, reaching for jeans and a thick sweater.


	13. Chapter 13

The house was all in darkness and Harry moved quietly through it. She knew it so well that she could anticipate each creak of the stairs, every uneven part of the floorboards. It was like a virtual map in her head, an instinctive knowledge that she felt would stay with her forever.

She reached the bottom of the sweeping staircase and stood still, listening intently. The ground floor was all in silence; she could discern no sign of any disturbance at all. She did a quick sweep of the main entrance hall and then moved towards the kitchen and a back door entrance that she knew was little used. Passing the scullery, she heard a sound. She stopped. The noise came again – a faint whine, followed by a scrabbling. Suddenly, her face relaxed and she turned the heavy knob that held the door shut. A second later, Jasper was jumping up to greet her, delighted to have a visitor at this unlikely hour. He licked her hands and gave a little bark, then quietened down as she laid a warning hand on his head.

Harry calmed him, whispering to him softly; strangely comforted by the feel of his hot breath on her face. He gazed deeply into her eyes as she crouched down beside him and seemed to be attuned to the adrenalin that was coursing through her body. She paused for a moment, deliberating, and then quickly she flicked on the light in the scullery, searching the shelves until she found what she was looking for.

"Be a good dog now and help me," she whispered to him, clipping the nylon lead onto his collar, and then turning the light off again. Jasper wagged his tail, and they left the scullery and moved towards the side door exit at the end of the hall.

Harry unbolted the heavy door and pulled it open; together, they slipped out into the freezing dawn. She wore dark jeans, a thick sweater and a jacket, but in her haste, she hadn't had time to seek out gloves so the cold bit into her hands like a dozen gnawing teeth.

Her gun sat snuggly against her rib cage. She hesitated a moment before she fastened her coat buttons against the cold, but, she reasoned to herself, they could be undone in seconds if need be. She'd grabbed a small torch from the bedside cabinet, and now she turned it on, directing its narrow beam on to the snow.

In the bedroom she had paused briefly, considering whether or not to wake Dempsey. Her feeling was only a hunch and it could be nothing, even if the way her heart was hammering suggested otherwise. Finally, she decided to leave him to sleep.

She set off with Jasper down the steps that lead to the lawn. She kept him close, gripping the lead tightly in her left hand. He strained in front of her, trailing the snow with his nose until they found the footsteps she had seen from the bedroom window.

"That's it, pick up the scent," she whispered, letting him linger over the first of the deep prints. The moon had emerged from behind the thick clouds that had filled the sky earlier, and now it cast an eerie glow across the smooth lawn ahead of them. The indentations were clearly visible, and as they followed them, she saw that, as she had suspected, they lead to the neglected, secret place.

As they reached the copse, she stopped, listening. Nothing, only the faint rustle of branches in the winter wind. Just round the other side of the cluster of trees was the entrance to the long-forgotten air-raid shelter. It had been constructed during the Second World War and was big enough to house the Winfield family and their staff. The entrance itself was small, and designed to be unobtrusive. In fact, it would be easy to walk within a few yards of it and be oblivious to its existence, if one were not privy to it. It was reached by a set of stone steps that were now very over-grown. As far as Harry knew, no one had bothered to maintain the place for thirty years or more. She was very familiar with it, however. She had loved to play there as a child, it had seemed so exciting; a hidden underground cavern with labyrinthine passages. Her father had forbidden her from going there many times, not that she had heeded him; he deemed it unsafe and worried that the accumulation of years of bad weather would one day cause the roof to collapse in on itself. In addition, there were so many interlinking rooms; it would be easy to get hopelessly lost. Strangely, Harry had always instinctively felt safe in the shelter – she knew it was well constructed and despite the succession of terrible winters and heavy snowfalls, it had always remained completely watertight, with never a hint of damp.

It took her until she was almost at the top of the steps before she saw the light. She pulled Jasper's lead tighter until she felt his reassuring warmth against her leg. There was someone down there. The door was partially open, and she could hear movement inside and see the swinging glow of a faint light, as though someone were playing a torch over the walls and ceiling.

She crouched down beside Jasper, dropped his lead and placed her hand on the back of his neck. "Stay," she whispered, and felt him tense, standing dead-still. Slowly, she rose to her feet, but the dog didn't move a muscle. With a final glance back at him, she began to move down the steps towards the source of the light. Her buttons were undone, and her hand went under her jacket, feeling for the pistol there.

It was firmly in her grasp as she pushed the door open and peered into the musty space within. A dim paraffin lamp flickered in the corner, and in the centre of the room, a bulky figure was standing with their back to her, facing the wall. They were bending over something, intent on a task that Harry couldn't see.

Her heart was beating heavily. She wasn't sure what her eyes were telling her, only that this wasn't right. There was no reason for anyone to be down here; no other reason than that something was wrong. She made herself count slowly to five and then she tensed, pointing her gun firmly at the broad back in front of her.

"Freeze!" she heard herself say. "Police!"

She was sure that the person hadn't known she was there until then, but as they turned around, there was no surprise in their eyes.

"Hello Harriet," said Esther. The two women gazed at each other for a few moments before she spoke again.

"What on earth are you doing up at this time of night?" her tone of voice was mild, inoffensive. Her hair was pulled back from her head, hidden under a heavy shawl. In the dim lamplight, her face was paler than ever and her eyes glittered as she regarded Harry.

"Most unfortunate really. For you, that is."

"On the contrary...," Harry began, but she didn't finish. Someone had run softly down the stairs behind her, someone holding a heavy, old fashioned hunting rifle. The butt hit her hard on the side of the head and she sank to the floor before she had even registered that anyone else was there.


	14. Chapter 14

Dempsey rolled onto his back and came awake suddenly, pulled out of vague dreams he wouldn't remember. Lids still tightly closed he reached out, but the sheets beside him were flat and cool.

He opened his eyes quickly, then. The curtains were open a crack – Harry hadn't properly drawn them again in her haste to leave – and pale moonlight that would soon dissipate into watery dawn fell through them on to the bed. He sat up. He was alone in the room and intuition told him that she hadn't just got up to go to the bathroom; she had been absent for some time.

Rubbing his eyes, he tried to control the sudden quick beating of his heart. Why the anxiety was rising so surely in his chest he couldn't really say, except that he knew Harry, didn't he? He thought, after last night's events, the idea that she had simply left to get a glass of water was the least likely scenario. No, she would have lain awake mulling things over, before finally getting up to investigate some hunch. He wondered that he was even surprised to find her gone.

But why hadn't she woken him to tell him what she was doing? He looked at the clock on the bedside table: it was almost twenty to seven in the morning; outside, night would still have a hold for another hour at least. He shivered. _Why hadn't she woken him_? He felt strongly that neither of them should be investigating this alone, not in the dark, at any rate. He sensed danger, danger to Harry. She needed him with her.

_God damn it, Makepeace,_ he thought and swung himself out of bed. He walked naked to the window, pushed back the curtains and peered out into the gloom. Immediately, he noticed the footprints traversing the lawn below. There were several tracks now, intermingling confusingly, as if two or three people had performed an elaborate dance together. They seemed to be headed for the woods they had walked through yesterday morning. Was she out there? He turned on the large table lamp on her side of the bed and the room was illuminated with soft yellow light. He saw her nightdress then, lying limply discarded on the floor, if though she had simply unhooked the straps and let it fall to her feet. It was unlike her not to pick it up and fold it away, she was meticulous like that. He yanked open the wardrobe door, looking for her outdoor coat. It wasn't there.

Not thinking too much about it, Dempsey crossed the room and retrieved his own clothes from yesterday. They lay folded half-neatly across the chair in the corner, and he pulled the grey sweatshirt over his head then reached for his jeans. The legs were still damp from their snowy walk: from where he had run through the thick snow in the fields. That carefree time they had spent together seemed long ago now. He pushed the thought away, and ignoring the uncomfortable dampness, yanked on thick socks, and finally his old adidas. Then, as Harry had done forty-five minutes previously, he took his gun and holster from the top drawer of the bedside cabinet and strapped it firmly up against his body before he pulled the leather jacket over it. Four minutes after waking, he left.

* * *

Unknowingly, he retraced Harry's footsteps almost exactly, although without the same assuredness. Instead, his own movements in the unfamiliar house were faltering and uncertain – the night had turned it into a foreign place, and again, he was fleetingly reminded of his strange dream of the previous night. He felt his way gingerly down the corridor and then finally, towards the main staircase. He didn't turn on any lights, and after every few steps he paused and listened for a sound. He encountered nothing and no one. To all intents and purposes, the house was fast asleep, silent in the early morning. He stopped at the door on the narrow landing that lead to Lord Winfield's sleeping quarters, but there was only quiet.

He descended the stairs and deliberated, undecided as to which way to go. He thought that Harry had most likely exited the house, that at least some of the tracks on the lawn were hers. After a few seconds, he moved towards the Great Room and into the main entrance hall. He went to open the large, heavy front door, but it was securely locked and the key had been removed. He cursed and decided to head towards the kitchen area. That side of the house had another exit - the door they had used for their walk yesterday. Perhaps it would be easier to get out that way. Then he heard a noise outside. He moved closer to the window and the sound came again, unmistakable this time. It was a dog barking.

Dempsey moved along the narrow corridor, trying to track the source of the barking. The dog was close to the house, but away from the main entrance. He made for the kitchen exit door and the barking got louder and then became almost frantic, is if the animal outside sensed his proximity. He suddenly knew with certainly that the dog was Jasper - the bark was unmistakable. He had never known before that dogs had unique voices, just as people did, but he understood at that moment that it was true. Jasper's bark was usually playful and inquisitive; there was no animosity there, only curiosity and enthusiasm. Now, though, there was a different tone to it – an urgency.

He reached the outer door, and Jasper was right on the other side of it. The dog was actually scratching at the wood, desperate for him to join him. Dempsey turned the main handle and the door opened easily – it had been left on the latch and he guessed Harry had come out this way. An icy draft hit him, and he was nearly knocked over by Jasper, who launched himself at him in a frenzy.

"Down, boy!" he exclaimed, grabbing the dog's collar in an attempt to control him. But Jasper wouldn't be calmed. Again and again, he jumped up, barking incessantly.

"What is it?" The worry was back in his chest. A lead was snapped onto the dog's collar, as if he had been taken for a walk. What was Jasper doing out here in the freezing night? Where was Harry? Apart from Jasper, there was no sign of life beyond the door at all. As though sensing his anxiety, the spaniel fell silent momentarily. He stood at Dempsey's feet, looking up at him beseechingly. He gave a short bark, and ran down the path a few metres. Then he looked back and barked again.

Dempsey didn't need any encouragement. It was still very dark out in the grounds, and he had no torch, but, he told himself, he had his instincts, and he had Jasper.

'Come on then boy, you show me where she is." He pulled the door shut quietly behind him and stepped out into the darkness. Jasper set off down the stone steps and through the snow like a bullet.


	15. Chapter 15

When she opened her eyes, it was dark. She moaned and shifted uncomfortably. Her head hurt terribly, but she sensed she hadn't been out for long. Someone or something had hit her on the head, hard enough to knock her senseless, but only momentarily.

Perhaps the same person had dragged her too, because she was lying in the corner of the small dark room. The dull ache in her armpits testified to that.

She tried to clear her head, to think. Esther was close by - bent over, intent on whatever she had been doing when Harry had surprised her. She raised her head to try and see more, but the woman's bulky frame obscured whatever was in front of her. A small pile of brown paper parcels was visible on the floor and she seemed to be systematically packaging things up. Harry could guess what they were.

A range of emotions ran through her: relief that her mother's possessions were within her grasp, followed by a hard cold anger. Was this how Esther re-paid the Winfields for welcoming her into the family?

She wondered where Giles was. Presumably, he had been the one who had hit her from behind. The two of them must be in league together; Dempsey had been right – about Giles, at least. Neither of them had considered that he might be in cahoots with Esther, too. Admittedly she had always been a cold fish, but Harry felt hollow gloom at the understanding that she was involved. She couldn't help it; there was a sense of betrayal that hurt deeply. And how could Giles do this to his flesh and blood? Even with everything she had learned of the dark side of human nature over the years, she was shocked that he could have struck her like that, her uncle, who'd known her since she was a baby. _You never really know a person_ she thought. Those words again.

Her hands had been roughly bound behind her back with a scarf of some kind. It wasn't tight, and she thought that she could easily get free if she wanted to. But she didn't try it - not just yet. She thought that the best plan was to stay quiet, to watch and wait. She had no idea where her gun was – in one of their pockets, presumably – so she had to be careful. It seemed as though Esther had almost forgotten she was there, completely intent as she was on her task of parceling up the silver.

Harry wondered where the items of jewelry were being sent. Abroad perhaps, sold on so they couldn't be traced. Anger came again and she clenched her fists. Then she remembered Jasper. Where was he? Had he barked when she was hit and been silenced by Giles? Please no.

Suddenly there were quick footsteps on the stone stairs, and a torch beam came into view followed by the figure of a man. Harry started. It wasn't her uncle; it was Porter, her father's manservant. Tall and thin, she recognized him immediately, even in the gloom and despite the fact that he wasn't wearing his customary black and white work clothes. Instead, he was dressed in dark cords and a hunting jacket, with a woolen hat pulled down low on his head.

Involuntarily, she made a small sound of surprise. He looked down at her, smiling unpleasantly.

"Lady Harriet, I see you're awake."

It was incongruous the way he said it, as if he was rousing her in the morning with a cup of tea. Instead, he was pointing a large hunting rifle in her face.

Hearing him, Esther stopped what she was doing and turned to look at Harry with a mixture of impatience and fury, as if she didn't want to be reminded of the intruder because it made her too angry.

Their eyes were on her now and with an effort she pushed herself upright so her back was against the wall. The old paraffin lamp cast a glow across the room and a draft blew in from the stairwell, chilling and uncomfortable.

"Porter, what are you doing?" she said. " Daddy will be so upset. How could you?"

He didn't respond, just held her gaze. He had always been here, she thought; he had worked at Winfield Hall for as long as she could remember, and his father before him. Freddy always treated his staff extremely well, so it happened quite a lot – family members taking over roles. What had he done to Porter to deserve this betrayal?

She thought she saw a momentary flicker of something – perhaps shame – in his face. But then Esther spoke.

"John and I go back a long way, Harriet. We were at school together. Believe me, your blessed father won't miss the jewelry, not really. If he's as attached to it as he professes to be, why did it take him so long to realise it was missing? In the end, we had to let him know ourselves."

"Out of interest," she said, keeping her voice calm. "Why _did_ you let him know? That seems very strange. And as for him not noticing, given that he has been betrayed by someone he considered to be one of his most loyal members of staff, I think it's more a case of trusting the wrong people, wouldn't you say?"

She fixed a steely gaze on Porter.

"John is charged with checking the safe every Saturday, so not to have reported the disappearance yesterday would have been unfeasible," Esther said, ignoring her second question. "Our plans to have the jewelry transported to a trusted contact should be complete in around an hour's time, so we felt we could just about take the risk, although having you stumble in on us is rather unfortunate, of course." She gave Harry another look of barely disguised contempt and anger.

"Besides, to leave it any longer would be to miss a good opportunity to pin it on the most likely person present to have actually committed the crime." Now, she smiled unpleasantly.

Harry winced. "And I suppose that would be James?"

"Very astute, Harriet," Esther had turned back to the table then and continued with her work. Harry could sense the urgency, the sense that time was of the essence. Grey dawn was visible through the open door - soon it would be morning, and surely daylight meant danger for them.

Porter kept the gun trained on her, but he wouldn't look her in the eye.

"You certainly seem taken with lover boy" said Esther over her shoulder, "but you should know as well as I do – Americans simply can't be trusted. I doubt it will take much to convince Freddy of that, with his outstanding old school true-brit credentials, and all. It's a shame because I like James, I really do. He was very comforting to me in the library this afternoon."

Harry stiffened. Esther glanced back at her and laughed shortly.

"What, you didn't know? Don't tell me he didn't mention it. Oh, don't worry dear. Nothing untoward happened. He just caught me in a little moment, and was extremely charming and consoling. Perhaps I _could_ have seduced him if I'd have liked, but I didn't have the heart." She laughed and tossed back her head so that the shawl fell away, letting loose her thick hair.

Harry thought back to the previous afternoon and Dempsey's appearance in the bedroom with that strange book – something about land reform, the last thing on earth she'd have expected him to pick out. At the time, she'd been vaguely perplexed, but had simply dismissed it as one of his eccentricities, of which there were several. Now she thought about it, he had seemed rather awkward and flustered at the time. What had occurred between him and Esther? Whatever it was, Esther was surely delusional if she thought James had been interested in her. He was a one-man woman, wasn't he? She felt the old familiar sense of anxiety - a remnant of her marriage - rise in her gorge; but it was quickly replaced with rage towards Esther for making her doubt him.

"Thanks for filling me in," she said tightly. "Now perhaps you might like to untie me, and abandon this whole charade. You'll never get away with it, you know."


	16. Chapter 16

"Oh, on the contrary, Harriet. I think we will. I've not quite decided what to do with you yet, but, rest assured, by the time you're anywhere close to being able to run to Daddy to tell him what's happened, we'll be long gone."

"Long gone _where?"_ she demanded. "Where ever you're going, we'll find you."

"I wouldn't be so sure." It was said with utter confidence. She and Porter smiled at each other, and Harry saw a furtive intimacy in the look. She was quickly distracted, however. The light in the room was increasing by the minute, and now she could see the table properly. In addition to small jewelry boxes, two large antique vases stood there.

"The Beau Château vases!" she exclaimed. "So you've taken those too? You do realize, don't you, the value of those things? Mummy's jewelry may be worth a fair amount, but it's the sentimental importance to us that makes it really priceless. Those vases are in a different league. You take those and I can guarantee that your lives will never be peaceful until they've been retrieved. The jail terms would be lengthy too."

She thought she saw real worry flash in Esther's eyes for the first time, and was rewarded with a small sense of satisfaction that her words had hit home. But Esther recovered quickly.

"The higher the value, the better. Where we're going, no one is going to find us – or the vases."

"What about Giles? Where does he fit in to all of this? Surely you aren't going to run off behind his back?"

A new voice sounded then, as someone descended the stairs.

"I'm glad you finally got around to mentioning me, Harriet."

Giles entered the room. Of course he was involved, thought Harry; he had simply been keeping watch outside. Nonetheless, the sadness came again. If only it were different. At the same time, she had the strong feeling that Esther was the ringleader in all this and that the two men were simply dancing to her tune. She knew enough about women, about a certain type of woman, to sense it was true. It was there in the flick of Esther's head, in the pout of her full lips and in the angry flash of her eyes whenever she looked at Harry, furious that she had dared to challenge her.

"I'm sorry Harriet," he said. In the gloom, he looked older than he was.

"I am aware of what's been going on. You probably won't believe me, but I did try to dissuade Esther. We need money I'm afraid - I'm so horribly in debt, you see." He shook his head sadly.

It was all becoming positively surreal, thought Harry. The old air raid shelter - her childhood playground - was crowded with people she had thought were trusted family, or near family. How wrong she had been.

"How could you do this to Freddy? You must know how he feels about that jewelry."

She gazed at Giles in what she hoped was a beseeching way. _Buy more time. _

He shook his head. "Harriet, of course I do. But… into each life, a little rain must fall." The words were so lame, she thought. Couldn't he hear himself, hear how ridiculous they were?

"Your father's had it good for a long time. The only way I can justify it is to say that rather more rain has fallen into my life than his. Ergo, perhaps this is due to me – to us."

"But your own brother. Don't you see what this'll do to him? And besides, his life hasn't been without sadness."

She was thinking of her mother of course, and she tried to convey the depth of her feelings with her eyes. It was no longer really anything to do with the jewelry – it was about trust and the betrayal of trust, and the importance of family ties.

Esther cut in before Giles could reply.

"God, Harriet. You don't know how easy your sainted Father had had it, compared to us."

Interesting, she thought. You've only been a part of this family for five years. What do you understand of anything?

Esther finished, "Do you have any idea, any idea at all – how much Giles has suffered over the years, knowing his own brother claimed the woman he was going to marry?" The timbre of her voice changed - dropped lower - as she glanced at Giles.

Blood drained from Harry's face. How dare she? Why was she getting involved in long-buried family issues? At the same time, she understood suddenly that this was how Esther had got Giles to cooperate – by opening old wounds. Predator that she was, she had found his weak spot and exploited it.

Harry looked at her uncle. His face had become a blank screen.

"Giles, is that true?" her voice sounded harsh to herself.

After a pause, he spoke. "Harriet, your mother – Lucy - was the only woman I loved, for such a long time." She could hear the bitterness.

"Freddy knew that, but he took her anyway. Oh, I moved on and married Jennifer eventually, but it nearly killed me. I introduced them, you know."

Harry wondered – but didn't say – why it didn't seem to occur to him that her mother herself might have had some baring on the situation. She thought of Jennifer too, and felt angry on her behalf. Giles spoke of her as if she were some sort of consolation prize, but she had been a good wife who had suited him well – or so it had always seemed.

She tried to reason with him.

"All's fair in love and war, uncle." It was such a cliché, and she winced as the words came out of her mouth. At the same time, she knew it was a cliché for a good reason.

Giles barely seemed to hear her, however.

"How do you think it made me feel," he continued, "watching you grow up, you - so like her. Sometimes it's almost as if Lucy is back with us. Freddy has never apologized for nearly ruining my life. So I'm sorry, Harriet, the view I take is I'm owed something. This is a small price to pay anyway - he got most of the family heirlooms, as well as the Hall."

She looked at him helplessly. It was such warped logic, and she would probably never know the full truth of what had taken place in the years before she even existed. She understood that things are never black and white, but this – it wasn't right. Freddy was an old man and he didn't deserve this betrayal.

Porter stepped forward then, bent and gathered up an armload of the parcels on the floor. He turned and made for the stairs.

"I'll be back soon to collect the rest," he said to Esther. "We need to get going after that, it's almost seven. After we deal with her."

The look he gave Harry over his shoulder as he departed was hate-filled, and she shuddered. All his supposed loyalty to her father over the years had just been an act, and nothing made sense to her any more.


	17. Chapter 17

After that, it was quiet for a little while. Esther was intent on packaging up the vases. Harry wanted to get up and grab them out of her hands - she was so angry, she was shaking - but Giles continued to keep watch by the entrance, training her own gun on her, and there was nothing she could do. Their eyes met briefly before he coldly looked away. Was it her imagination, or had the spirit gone out of him with their last exchange? Surely, in his heart of hearts, he must know that this was wrong.

She heard footsteps on the stairs again and thought it was Porter returning, but suddenly Dempsey was in the room. She lay there looking at him, not reacting – but her heart was soaring. Had she thought he would come? No, just because how would he know where to look for her? But he was here.

Startled, Giles turned, but before he could make any noise, Dempsey knocked him to the ground in one movement, stamping on his hand to force him to release the gun. He groaned, and Esther spun around, but by then, Dempsey was pointing his own weapon at her head.

"Freeze," he growled. "Don't even think about reaching in that pocket. Get your hands in the air."

Lying there on the floor, despite everything, she could only think of one thing. James had come to her. As she watched him; the fluidity of his movements; she understood more than ever how being a cop was second nature to him. The way he had disarmed Giles and taken control; his voice – strong but steady. They could have been in New York City, far from here. He was completely alert and in his element.

He looked at her.

"You okay princess?"

"I will be when I get free of these bindings."

"Wait a minute. Soon as I deal with this one I'll be there,"

"No need," she said, "I can do it myself. They aren't tight."

She wished he hadn't found her this way; wished she could have dealt with it on her own; but God, was she happy to see him. She should have woken him to tell him where she was going - she knew that now. They could've tackled it together and she wouldn't be lying here waiting for him to rescue her, the proverbial damsel in distress.

Hindsight was a wonderful thing, and the spirited part of her would always kick against Dempsey's macho style. That part had been at play earlier in the way she had dressed quietly and tiptoed from the room to be sure of not waking him. If she had thought she would be cured of that stubbornness when they entered into a relationship, she had been proven wrong.

Jasper was here too. He came and licked her face with his rough tongue. She longed to put her arms around him, and the impulse made her work more urgently at the bindings encircling her wrists.

Dempsey was bending down to retrieve the gun he had kicked from Giles's hand, his eyes never leaving Esther's face.

Suddenly though, there was the sound of heavy boots outside. Too late, she remembered that Dempsey didn't know about Porter. She opened her mouth to warn him but he was there with them almost before she had time to think.

Everything happened very quickly. Jasper began to bark at the sight of the intruder, and Dempsey turned to see what had caused the dog to make this outcry. Harry called out too. The moment Dempsey's eyes strayed from her, Esther's hands flew to one of the vases on the table.

But Porter had the advantage, and with a shout of rage, he raised his rifle and smashed it down on the side of Dempsey's head before he could react. Dempsey slumped to the floor, and Harry watched in horror as blood began to pour down his face. A long, deep wound had opened up above his left eye.

His eyes were glazed and she could see that he was fighting to keep consciousness. He moaned and turned his face towards her.

"Harry…"

The voice was hoarse and pain-filled.

With Dempsey immobilized, Giles began to get to his feet, just as Porter turned towards Harry. Esther was standing stock-still holding the vase. She seemed to be in shock, or perhaps her mind was simply working rapidly. Jasper ran to Dempsey as he fell, but Porter kicked him so viciously that the dog was sent flying up against the wall. He yelped in a terrible, strangled way and lay still, momentarily stunned. Then he got to his feet and limped from the shelter. Harry was suddenly very scared.

Dempsey's appearance seemed to have enraged Porter, or perhaps the act of hitting him had had an inflammatory effect, because he had a look in his eye that turned her blood to ice. It was the wild, black look of one about to lose all vestige of control.

Suddenly he sprang across the room and stood, looming over her.

"You bitch!" he screamed, "I've had it with your family, do you hear? You're going to pay for all the indignities we've suffered down the years! At your bloody beck and call – no more! No more, damn it!"

She curled herself into a tight ball and terror gave her the will to wrench her hands from their bindings. The force of it burned her skin and she felt her left wrist strain and almost dislocate, but the sensation was in some small, far-off part of her brain. Most of her mental energy was being taken up by the need to ward off the attack she sensed was pending, and for which she would need her hands, damaged or not. Such rage in his face: her thoughts were scrabbling; what had they done to him, why did he feel this way? She had no idea and was certain her Father wouldn't, either.

He pocketed the gun and began to rain blows down on her with his bare hands. She lifted her arms to protect her head, but some of them found their mark and searing agony ripped through her upper body and shoulders. She cried out, despite herself.

Dimly, in the opposite corner of the room, she could hear Dempsey moaning, as though caught in a terrible nightmare. The sound was almost worse than the pain of the raining blows.

Then suddenly, it stopped. Slowly, she took her hands away from her face.

Giles was dragging Porter backwards so his feet scuffed impotently against the stone floor.

"Stop it, you - mad man!" he was shouting. Her father's valet looked dazed, as though he had been suddenly roused from sleep.

Harry rolled onto her side trying to catch her breath. Giles had saved her from a terrible fate, she was certain of that. Porter had been beyond the bounds of all restraint.


	18. Chapter 18

Esther had stayed quiet throughout all the violence, but when Giles wrestled Porter to the floor, she suddenly started as though shaken out of a dream. Her eyes darting, she began to move towards the doorway.

Every cell in Harry's body was feeling the effects of the beating Porter had administered; however, it seemed to have kick-started the adrenalin that was now coursing strongly through her veins. As Esther made to leave, she got swiftly to her feet and blocked her path. Then her eyes alighted on her gun - discarded on the floor where Dempsey had kicked it out of Giles's hand - and she managed to scoop it up as she moved.

"Stay where you are," she hissed, and the venom in her voice surprised her.

"You're not going to get away with this."

Esther stopped and measured the space between Harry and the doorframe, then looked at down at Giles, who had immobilized Porter and was now sitting on him.

"For God's sake!" she shouted at him. "What are you doing? Show some guts for once in your life, and help me!"

The sweat of his exertions ran down his face and his cheeks were blotchy. He shook his head.

"I'm sorry Esther, but I don't think I can. I don't think… this was ever going to work,"

'What do you mean?" she spat, then softened. The harsh bullying tone was gone.

"Do you mean the robbery? Or our marriage?"

He looked up at her dejectedly.

"Both, I think. Put the vase down. Let's stop this now before anyone else gets hurt." He glanced over at Dempsey, who was lying very still with his eyes closed, his face pale.

Harry was still blocking Esther's path. She didn't relax her stance but suddenly, she wanted to cry. She stamped down on that; stamped down hard. It wasn't over yet.

The gun was pointing straight at her aunt's chest, less than a metre away from it.

"Come on, Esther," she said coaxingly. "Listen to Giles. It's the most sensible thing to do – for all of us. It's not too late to salvage something."

She ignored the throbbing in her back and neck where Porter had struck her so viciously; ignored the thought of Dempsey crumpled in the corner. If Esther would give herself up, she would still be willing to try and sort this whole thing out within the family - for her Father's sake, if no one else's.

For a moment, Esther seemed to waver. She half-turned, and Harry thought at first that she was going to place the vase down on the table behind her. Suddenly though, she threw it hard, directly at Harry.

Harry's reaction was born of instinct; of all her years of police training and experience. Despite the point-blank range, she ducked, and the vase sailed over her head. There was a deafening crash as it shattered on the stone stairway behind her. A three hundred year old work of art – destroyed in an instant. The wantonness of the act stunned her. Despite everything she had witnessed this morning, she was still profoundly shocked that the woman had just done such a thing.

Esther took advantage of her stupefaction, and turned and ran from the room, heading deeper into the shelter. Harry watched her go in disbelief. Didn't she know she was trapping herself? Why wouldn't she admit to herself it was over?

She stood for a moment, un-decided as to what to do. Dempsey was very quiet, and that frightened her.

"Is she armed?" she asked Giles.

"I don't think so," he said. "But don't go after her, Harriet. She's trapped herself. Go and get help, I'll stay here with him," he gestured down to Porter, who was also quiet, his face pressed into the floor, gimlet eyes open.

She blinked, undecided. She wanted to trust Giles; wanted to trust him very badly, but after what had happened – she found that she couldn't, not completely. And the lack of trust meant she also didn't want to leave Dempsey here with him, in so very vulnerable a state.

But then something occurred to her, a niggling memory from childhood. The corridor lead to the one-time bedroom area, and in that room was a small window. Harry could always squeeze out of there when she was a little girl – it exited out into the woodland beyond. She was almost certain that the space was too small for an adult to fit through, but nevertheless, she knew she couldn't take the chance. It wasn't to do with the jewelry, it was Esther herself. She wasn't going to let her get away with this.

Porter seemed to have been drained of all fight. He lay limply under Giles, who continued to gaze intently up at her. He seemed to be willing her to trust him, desperately trying to re-build the bond that had been shattered in the last hour. Eventually, she made the decision.

"I'm going after her," she said.

"Giles, I trust you to stay here. We can sort this out I promise, if you just work with me now."

He nodded. "You have my word."

"Thank you."

She went to James and knelt down beside him. The gash above his eye was nasty. She knew that head wounds always bled a lot, and sometimes looked worse than they were, but that didn't stop the anxiety welling up and producing a sort of stifled panic.

She pushed his hair back to get a better look in the gloom, and at the feel of her hand, he groaned and half-opened his eyes.

To her relief, he managed to focus on her.

"You 'kay angel?" he mumbled.

"I'm fine. Don't try to move, I'm just going to do something, but I'll be back very soon. I… I love you." His hand was groping blindly and she caught his cold fingers, intertwining them with her own. She kissed him quickly on the forehead and her lips came away sticky.

Then she set off in pursuit of Esther.

* * *

It was nearly light outside now, which had made it easier to see inside the shelter, but as soon as she exited the main room into the corridor beyond, all the light was extinguished – the space was dank and gloomy. It crossed her mind at that moment that this had been a rather macabre playground for a little girl, and she smiled grimly. She never remembered it having bothered her, then. Small wonder she had ended up doing what she did, where dark, unpleasant places were an occupational hazard.

She reached the bedroom and entered. Memories of solitary afternoons spent playing here flooded back to her. The two rusty old sets of bunk beds were still here, and sure enough, so was the grimy window in between them. Esther had wrenched it open – no mean feet, since the frame was rotting and rusted into the surrounding wall – and was trying to maneuver herself out.

"It's no good, Esther. This is where it ends. Just accept it."

The woman spun around to face her, the bush of auburn hair standing out around her head in a way that suddenly reminded Harry of pictures of Queen Elizabeth I. Anger sparked from her eyes, and a pulse throbbed at her temple.

"That's the thing Harriet. I won't accept it."

"You have to. I'm sorry. I don't know why you felt you had to do this… but it's over now. "

For a long moment, the two women stared at each other. Harry had the feeling that her most inner core was being scrutinized, as though Esther was searching for an answer to something. And at the same time, she wanted to grab her and shake it out of her - what had really possessed her. But then Esther seemed to collapse, and actually grow smaller. Quickly, Harry came forward and put her hand on her arm.

"Come without a struggle – please."

"I suppose you'll allow me that little dignity?" she said bitterly. "Don't look for answers, Harriet. I can see you still want them, but you won't get them. I'm sorry about your american boyfriend, but he'll be alright. Types like him always are." She tossed her head contemptuously. "You and your Father - you're the lucky ones. You'd never understand. I picked the wrong husband that's all. The wrong husband and the wrong family."

Together, they walked back into the main room.

Harry made Esther get on the floor next to Porter. "Go to the house and get help, quickly," she told Giles. "I'll wait here with them. And call an ambulance while you're there."

She wanted to go to Dempsey so very badly, but instead, she stood and kept watch over her aunt and the accomplice, and tried not to listen to his ragged, irregular breathing.


	19. Chapter 19

The next few hours passed in a blur.

After what seemed like a long time, voices came outside. Giles returned with three of the staff, and also with them was Sergeant Timms. They hadn't needed to call him out – Giles had found him already at the house. The case had given him a bad feeling, he said, and he'd decided early this morning to come back and investigate further.

Giles, Esther and Porter were all arrested at the scene, and Timms radioed for reinforcements. Before taking the three away, they retrieved the jewellery from the back of Porter's car, parked out of sight in the woods a hundred metres or so away from the air raid shelter.

Then, an ambulance arrived and took Dempsey and Harry to the local cottage hospital. It was only just after 9 am and Lord Winfield hadn't yet been told what had happened in the night. Harry had wanted to go to him but Timms pressed her to proceed straight to the hospital, saying he would talk to Lord Winfield, and stress that she was all right.

She held James's hand as they travelled in the ambulance together. She was 'walking wounded'; very sore, but nothing broken. She had been hit on the head and they wanted to check that out, but she didn't think it was serious: just a painful lump that would take a few days to heal.

He mumbled incoherently on the journey – to her, to himself - in a way that worried her. Every few minutes, he would try to get up from the cot in the back of the ambulance; each time, she entreated him to lie back down and tried to sooth him.

"Gotta get to work… gonna be late...chief's gonna suspect…."

"James, it's alright, it's Sunday. He's not expecting you."

He looked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment and then broke out into grin.

"Angel. How you doin?'

Then he suddenly went quiet again. His face was so pale. She'd never seen him like this before, so very vulnerable, and she hated it. At the same time, it strengthened her resolve. She had to be strong for both of them now.

The small country hospital was quiet at this early hour. The Doctor checked her over but was reassuring. She'd sustained a nasty beating and she was going to feel the bruises acutely over the next few days, but that was it. She had Giles to thank for cutting short Porter's frenzied attack.

Dempsey was severely concussed, though. The blow to his head had been much harder, the Doctor told her, and that accounted for his disorientation. It was essential to wake him regularly and to keep him as alert as possible - the drowsiness had already set in. At least the stitches improved the appearance of the awful, gaping wound.

Finally, she got him into a cab and they set off back towards Winfield Hall.

"We're okay Harry, that's the main thing," he murmured once, a brief moment of clarity that startled her. For the rest of the journey, he fought encroaching sleep, his head alternately dipping and then jerking violently up again. He hadn't asked her about the outcome of the robbery; indeed, he hadn't mentioned it. She wondered if he remembered it at all. He wasn't himself, and she knew she would have a difficult phone call to make to Spikings later.

* * *

By the time she finally sat down to talk to Freddy, it late afternoon and dusk was falling again. The days were so very short, she thought. They were right in the bull's eye of winter, and suddenly she yearned for longer days, for sunshine and an end to this bitter freeze.

They sat in the library in armchairs, the fire in the grate between them a buffer against the gloom. Outside, long shadows were falling across the crystallised snow on the lawn. Dempsey was upstairs in bed and had been there all day. Harry woke him periodically and gave him sips of hot, sweet tea.

She had called Spikings earlier. She'd told him most of it, just as it was. It was awkward of course – personal, and a little embarrassing. She skimmed over some of the family details, leaving him to fill in the blanks for himself. For his part, Spikings was smart enough not to probe too much, especially not about the reasons for Dempsey's being there with her in the first place. However, his lack of discernable surprise on his point made Harry ponder. Did the chief know more than he was letting on? She supposed only time would tell.

Now she sat with her father in the gloom. She was thankful for the stiff drinks he had poured them both, despite the relatively early hour. Giles, Esther and Porter were still in custody, but the story had completely come out. She had given Timms a full statement, and it was strange, being on the other side of an investigation for once. Esther and Porter were looking at lengthy sentences – Porter even more so because of the violence he had used. Giles? She didn't know. She found she felt sorry for him, but there was anger at his weakness, too.

"Did you have any notion they would be involved, Daddy?" she said finally, and took a long sip of her gin and tonic.

"Of course I didn't," he looked out of the window into the darkness, thinking. It was some time before he spoke again.

"There was always rivalry between us, you know; right from when we were youngsters. Though it was healthy rivalry, or so I always thought. What else do you expect with brothers? It's not as if I had any real advantage over him, he was clever, good at sport – a popular boy. But I was always the older one, and I think in his mind, that gave me an inordinate advantage, somehow. I was the first son and heir."

He gave a short laugh. "It's silly, isn't it? In relative terms, he was so privileged. But he always measured himself against me; against the advantage I suppose I did have, by an accident of birth."

"And Mummy?" she almost didn't want to ask. This issue of love rivalry was so sensitive; she had never brought it up with him before and he had never volunteered anything. The bits and pieces she knew had come from her nanny when she was a teenager, usually in moments of indiscretion after a couple of glasses of wine.

Freddy sighed, and Harry caught a glimpse of the fragility of the previous night.

"It's such a long time ago, Harriet," He shifted in his chair, and she felt his pain and awkwardness acutely. Her heart went out to him. She knew he didn't really want to discuss this with her, and yet – she waited. A part of her needed to know.

"It's true that your mother was with Giles first, and that he introduced me to her– they used to come here often, for supper or just to stay the weekend. That's how we got to know one another. Giles was in his mid twenties at the time; done with Cambridge, but still working out what direction his life was going to take. He'd just taken on the Gables, of course. It was an exiting time for him – should have been, anyway,"

He sighed heavily before continuing.

"Lucy was a couple of years older than him, and a real live wire. I started looking forward to their visits more and more, never quite admitting to myself that it was her I really wanted to see."

He looked up at her then, and she saw the sparkle in his eye – that glint of life, of love for life, that was ageless. Just for a moment, she saw what her mother must have seen.

"We got on so well. We were always laughing and joking, sometimes at Giles's expense, just to tease him, you know. There was never any malice in it. And – I thought she was an absolutely wonderful woman. I congratulated him to myself on achieving such a coup.

"Lucy adored the grounds, and she would bring clothes for walking or shooting every time she came. She so loved the outdoors, when Giles never really took to them. You've inherited that from her, my love."

"So the two of us would go out together, shooting, riding or just walking… the way you and James did yesterday," he looked wistful for a moment. "She was such easy company. We talked about all sorts of things, and gradually…. I mean, I'm not even sure when it happened, but one day, we realised we were in love."

He glanced at her quickly.

"Honestly, Harriet. I know how it probably sounds. Giles has always blamed me so whole-heartedly. He thought it was calculated. I was older – maybe looking to settle down, subconsciously, at least. To him, it was black and white. I took her out walking, seduced her – I had the Hall, I had more life experience. It was easy for him to be bitter. But it really wasn't like that. It was so unexpected. I think you just know, when you've found that person. So unexpected, but so… simple, at the same time."

She thought of James.

"I understand, Daddy."

He looked at her, and nodded. "Then of course, Giles married Jennifer. There was a lot of ill feeling between us around that time. But Jennifer was so good for him. He managed to move on, and our relationship improved. If I'm honest with myself now, perhaps it never recovered enough. When your mother died – the worst time of my life – he tried to be there for me, but even then, I could sense his resentment. I wasn't strong enough to deal with that on top of my grief, so I suppose I distanced myself from him. "

"But then Aunt Jenny died too..." she said, softly.

"Yes, she did. It was very bad for him, that. He didn't deserve it, and look what happened then. Esther was never any good. I knew it in my bones, even if my head wouldn't acknowledge it."

"The most unforgivable thing is that she's found his Achilles heel, and exploited it. She's dug up these family issues, and used them to her to her advantage. Then, the betrayal from Porter - I'll never understand it, Harriet. I'll never know what I – we, the family – did to him to warrant that. For him to strike you and James that way… I can't tell you how furious I am."

She had never heard this tone in his voice before. His hands came fluttering up to his face, and she could see they were trembling. His blue eyes brimmed – with sadness, and but also with a deep anger.

Harry went to his side and crouched beside him, grasping both his hands firmly in hers.

"We're alright Daddy, it's over now. I don't blame you for feeling that way, and we'll probably never know exactly why they did it. You can re-build bridges with Giles, I know you can. And I'm here. That's all that matters, nothing else."

He looked down at her, pulled his hands gently away from hers and rested them on her head.

"You're right, my darling, I suppose that is all that matters. It hurts so much, though. But, sitting here with you, I can feel Lucy too. You're so like her, you know."

She smiled up at him. There were tears in both their eyes.


	20. Chapter 20

**Last chapter. Many thanks for all your reviews which I really appreciate.**

In his dream he was a kid again, on the baseball pitch next to the big old warehouse in Queens. He'd never liked that pitch - it was full of broken glass and graffiti - but it was the only one in the neighbourhood. And there he was: Jimmy Dempsey, ten years old with scuffed knees and falling apart sneakers.

Everything was familiar: the glare of the sun in his eyes as he held the bat poised behind him; the brown, balding grass beneath his feet and the industrial smell from the laundry down the street, carried on the summer air. In front of him was Chris O' Grady, the biggest, meanest bully on the block. Chris began pitching at him low and fast, and he tried to hit it, but the ball kept smashing into his head instead, so hard that he felt like it was going to explode. Each blow knocked him to the ground and he had to pick himself up while the others jeered. After the sixth time the tears came and he couldn't stop them. It hurt so goddamn bad.

Chris taunted him. "Baby, baby, baby," he called. "You want your Momma, Jim?"

The others crowded around him, echoing Chris's words and he tried to get up and fight back but there were too many of them. After a while he didn't care anyway. His head throbbed and it was true, he wanted his mom. He called out for her, loudly enough that the boys around him began to retreat, alarmed. Chris's face loomed close. "Baby!" he crowed a final time, before turning away.

Dempsey awoke suddenly, and for long moments he was completely caught up in it: Chris, the pitch in Queens. It was as vivid as if his most recent visit had been last week instead of thirty years ago. A wave of nostalgia swept through him that was so strong it was almost painful. Also lingering was the strange, forgotten yearning for his mother. He was hurt and confused, with a sense of deep sadness.

He felt a cool hand on his forehead. Suddenly, he wasn't ten years old any more but a grown man; not in Queens, but in bed in a big old house in England. And the hand belonged to a woman who was looking into his eyes with love. Not his mother. Harry.

He knew his face was wet with tears, and he felt ashamed. "Sorry…" he began, but she shushed him, stroking his cheek.

"It's alright darling, you were dreaming. I'm here. I love you."

The words soothed him. The confusion and pain began to recede, and he became more aware of where he was. He freed his hand from the sheets and found her other one.

"God, such awful dreams. Like nothin' I've had in years."

"I know. I was asleep on the sofa outside and I heard you calling out. It's just the concussion."

"What happened? I can't remember."

"It was yesterday morning. I found my aunt and uncle outside in the old bomb shelter. They'd taken the jewellery. You followed me, and Porter – my father's manservant, he was in on it too – surprised you, hit you very hard. He was out of control, James. There was nothing you could do. Thankfully Giles helped me overpower him. Everything's alright."

She paused, and bent down to kiss him.

"I've been so worried about you. It's a relief to see you looking better."

It came back to him slowly. He remembered the dog, Jasper, and the underground place in the woods. Seeing Harry on the floor in the gloom and feeling pumped with adrenalin but in control. Then nothing.

He pushed himself upright, and she plumped the pillows behind me. _Might as well accept the fact that I'm officially an invalid_, he thought, letting her do it. Light was filtering through the drawn curtains.

"What time is it?" He asked. "What about work?"

"Don't worry, I've talked to Spikings. He knows what's happened and he isn't expecting to see either of us today. You've got to rest."

He leaned forward and put his arms around her, gingerly at first, then tighter. Finally, he held her away from him and cupped her face in his hands. She looked worn out, and there was a dark bruise on her temple.

He touched it lightly.

"Did they hit you too?"

"A bit – I'm alright. Daddy's fine too and that's all that matters. Oh, Esther broke an antique vase. It was priceless - such a loss - but still, only an object."

"You shoulda' woken me Harry. We needed to deal with it together," he said quietly.

"I know that now. I'm sorry. I was stupid."

"It ain't _stupid_ angel, but we're partners. We work as a team. Things don't go so well when we don't."

"We are, aren't we?" she said, looking into his eyes. "I'm not going to forget it again."

* * *

They set off back to London in the afternoon and the horizon was clear as Harry steered the car down the drive. The roads were still icy, but it hadn't snowed for twenty-four hours. Dempsey turned his head to catch a last glimpse of Winfield Hall, imposing against the skyline. Then he looked ahead. He was looking forward to the moment when they crossed the West Way and he could feel they were home. London town, his home - who'd have believed it? He smiled to himself, thinking he would keep that sentiment from Harry for a while.

Lord Winfield had waved them off, the depth of his fondness almost overwhelming. On the steps, he enveloped Dempsey in a fierce hug. "Come back soon, my boy," he said, shaking his hand vigorously. "You're never a stranger here, don't forget that." Dempsey nodded, for once lost of words.

"You look after each other," he called, as they extricated themselves and walked down to the car. "I want to see you both fighting fit and back very soon."

Harry blushed. "Yes Daddy."

He looked upbeat, but Dempsey knew she was worried. He appeared to be on something of a high at the moment, perhaps euphoria at averting a serious crisis and the fact that they were all essentially unscathed. But she had confided that she thought it likely that he might 'crash' in later days, especially now they were leaving. Porter's actions, and those of Giles, would begin to hit home and might be painful for him to accept. She hugged him for a long time and kissed him on both cheeks before she got in the car.

"You take care Daddy, and don't forget what we said. Talk to Giles."

"I will, Harriet, I will," he smiled sadly. He had pleaded mitigating circumstances to the police, with the result that Giles had been released on bail and was staying with an old school friend in the neighbourhood. The others had been remanded in custody and there would be a hearing in ten days. They would all have to be there, to give evidence, and Harry was worried about the effect of that on Freddy, too. For his part, Dempsey couldn't wait to see Esther and that bastard Porter, get their just deserts.

"I still can't get over the betrayal," she said, as they drove through the countryside.

"Your uncle?"

"Yes, him mainly. Porter, too though. Esther was just a bad egg. With family, somehow, it's worse."

"But your uncle saw the light eventually."

"Yes, he did. But to do it in the first place…" she trailed off, and sighed.

"Sometimes I think I'm a cynic because I'm mistrustful, but then something like this happens and it only confirms my worst fears."

He glanced over at her. "Is that how you feel about me?" he asked. "Is that why you didn't wake me?"

She turned and looked at him. "Oh James, no." she paused, searching for the words.

"I was just on autopilot. I suppose I've been self sufficient for so long; so used to relying only on myself. But everything's different now. I can't tell you how sorry I am."

He knew she meant it, but the hurt was still there. Would she ever completely trust him?

"You know," she said, "when I saw you come into the shelter – after what I'd just discovered about my own family – I realised something. I know I can trust you be there for me. It's a feeling that overrides every natural impulse I have, but it's the truth."

Between the seats, their hands met and clasped tightly.

* * *

He wanted to come home with her but she insisted on dropping him off at his place. He needed a peaceful night's rest she said, and she promised to come round first thing next morning. The doctor had signed him off work for a week, much to his chagrin. She went back to her own flat and fell into bed. It was barely 9pm, but her exhaustion was epic.

She woke in the small hours and reached for him. But he wasn't here; and then she remembered. In the dark, she was small and scared, nothing like her daytime self.

Suddenly, the telephone burst into life, harsh in the night's silence. After two rings, she picked it up.

"Hello,"

"Angel,"

Relief flooded through her.

"James, I…." _I need you._

The words had only been spoken in her head, but he heard them.

"I'm on my way."

**The End. **


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